


Legend of Forgotten Flames

by Chloe Casey (ChloeCasey)



Series: Songs From the End [1]
Category: Doctor Who (BBC), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Sherlock (BBC), Supernatural, The Kane Chronicles - Rick Riordan
Genre: 6 Way Crossover, OCs as Main Characters, So Many Fandoms, So many OCs, Started as a Joke, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:58:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeCasey/pseuds/Chloe%20Casey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A demigod is caught and questioned by Coulson's team. The Winchesters pick a fight with a mysterious witch. Watson is acting strangely around Sherlock. The TARDIS decides to send the Doctor and Clara to Tennessee instead of the other side of the universe. And a prophecy is given that could decide the fate of millions.</p><p>Stuck in the middle of all this madness is a young woman going by the name Nightinghawk. With a sketchy background and little trust to be given or received, her task to coordinate efforts against the upcoming threat will be incredibly difficult to accomplish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Quick Q&A Session

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction starts at these places in the following series:
> 
> Percy Jackson: After 'The Blood of Olympus'  
> Kane Chronicles: After 'The Serpent's Shadow'  
> Marvel Cinematic Universe: After Season 1 Episode 12 'Seeds'  
> Supernatural: After Season 9 Episode 14 'Captives'  
> Sherlock: After Season Three Episode 3 "His Last Vow"  
> Doctor Who: After Series Seven Episode 7 "Rings of Akhaten"  
> Harry Potter: After Deathly Hallows (2015, before epilogue)

**INTERROGATION ROOM, THE BUS**

“So you're Benton, right?” The brown haired agent slid into the seat in front of the young teen, holding an imposing folder in his hands. “Is it alright if I call you Ben?”

“I'd rather you call me Ben, so yes,” the teen said. He tapped the table, bored out of his mind. “Is this placemade of a silicon-carbide-coated Vibranium alloy?”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Why would you think that?”

“Well, I know a bit about Vibranium,” Ben told him with a shrug. “If you coat it in something, the ring sort of changes a bit. Becomes duller, or deeper, or maybe even a bit higher depending on what's coating it. You know, molecular physics or whatever. I thought it kinda sounded a bit different than usual, so I thought I might ask.”

He nodded. “How old did you say you were again?”

“Fifteen, turning sixteen in about four months or so.”

The agent idly flipped through the folder and report file, glancing at Ben's date of birth. July 15, 1998. True. “And you were born in Green Bay, Wisconsin, right? Pretty far away from Colorado.”

The boy shrugged again. “My mom liked traveling. She couldn't afford hiring someone to take care of me, so she brought me with her.”

“You weren't with your mom this time though, were you?”

“I was with her,” he said simply. And then added, “I was just taking a walk when you all found me.”

The agent sighed. “You were illegally hacking into SHIELD's databases from a cafe when we found you.”

Ben looked down and away, and then fidgeted and tapped the table compulsively. “Look, I didn't even know it was SHIELD. I was pulling on a few threads and I came across a few links to some encrypted files. I thought I could find some information I needed.”

“What kind of information?”

“Just some personnel files,” he muttered. He shook his head. “Still can't believe it was SHIELD. The encryptions on the files were so _poor-_ ”

“We're already upping the security.” The agent let a small grin slide onto his face. “Rather surprising that a fifteen year old got through it in the first place.”

“I've practiced,” he admitted. “A lot.”

“Obviously.” He flipped through a few more pages of the file in front of him before looking up into his eyes. “I'd like to understand more of the when and where, but there are other pressing matters I'd like to have the answers to.”

“What do you want to know, Coulson?”

The agent narrowed his eyes for a moment, noting the fact that he hadn't given his name to Ben. Probably some form of defiance, though he didn't know the reasoning behind it. “Are you part of a group or organization? Is that why you were searching for personnel files?”

“Organization? No.” He shook his head. “It's just me on this.”

“Ever heard of the group Rising Tide?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like some sort of surfing team.”

“How about Centipede?”

Ben couldn't keep his face from staying neutral or playful at the name. His eyes widened for a split second, and his grin easily slipped off of his face. He could almost feel the blood draining from his face as the muscles in his back coiled anxiously. Coulson sat back slightly as he noticed the reaction, seemingly having expected some sort of response, but not the one on Ben's face. The boy looked away and cleared his throat, tapping the table again. It was obvious that he was caught, and he made no attempt at denying it. He clenched his jaws and looked back at the agent.

“What does all of this have to do with those _psychopaths?_ ” he snapped. His eyes narrowed. “What is this really about?”

“The last individual who managed to hack into SHIELD was a part of the Rising Tide, and they had intel on a group called Centipede.” Coulson glanced back at the file in front of him, looking at more recent history. “We've recently been trying to discover more about them and their purpose. And judging by the way you reacted to their name, you know that this organization is more than the regular mafia. How much do you know?”

“They're a bunch of fancy extremists with serum injected victims who usually go boom. That much I know for certain.” He sighed, some of his anger dripping away. “If you're trying to find out if I work with them, I'll save you the time looking through my background for something to connect me and them.”

Coulson nodded slightly. “What do you have?”

Ben was quiet for a moment. “Take a look at my right ankle. Two inch long scar. I had to dig a tracker out of my leg. After I escaped a Centipede facility.”

“You were in a facility owned by Centipede?”

“Yeah. I was kidnapped by them almost half a year ago. It took me weeks to get out of there. After stumbling through a forest and onto a road, I managed to sneak into a loading truck for Stark Enterprise. I thought I was maybe somewhere in New York, or near some corporation related to Stark. But the next time I woke up, I was in Bishop, California. It took me three states of running to realize that there was a tracker in me.”

Coulson watched Ben's face carefully while he talked. He could tell everything he said was true, but something was missing. He shifted before saying anything. “Was your mother with you when you were kidnapped?”

The boy tensed just as he had when he had heard the name Centipede. He closed his eyes and let his breath out in a long hiss. “We, uh... we were on the road for another of her business trips. We were heading to Klamath Falls in Oregon. Someone ran us off the road. The next thing I know I'm waking up strapped to a chair next to my mom.”

He nodded. “She didn't make it, did she?”

Ben lowered his head. “No. She 'didn't have special abilities'. They injected her with something, made me watch. They said that it would make her better, more special, but if she fought it, it could kill her. She... It worked at first, and she broke out of her binds. She knocked out the two scientists and freed me, which is how I got out in the first place. She told me to run as far as I could. I heard gunshots when I was running off. Then an explosion.” He swallowed roughly. “When I thought I was safe, I tried figuring out more about them. I knew I couldn't just head back home, but there were some people I trusted, friends of my family. I thought that on my way to them, I could look into Centipede. Then I came across a few redacted files. I knew something had to be going on; files don't just _get_ redacted for no reason.”

“So you dug deeper and found the files from SHIELD,” Coulson said, connecting the dots. “And we found you.”

“I – I just needed answers. I've never dealt with the group before, never seen them in my life. I'm just – an everyday guy.”

Ben put his head in his hands. He knew that he wasn't _just_ some random guy. There were a few things that made him a bit more extraordinary compared to others. But the public didn't know about people like him, so there was no way these people wanted him because of who he was.

 _Then again,_ the other part of him chided, _Centipede isn't just some small time organization. They're the real deal. They don't play games._

Unless they get bored.

Or angry.

Then they snapped necks.

Literally.

Ben pulled himself out of his grim reverie as Coulson stood up and walked out of the room. Left to his own thoughts, he glumly turned away from freedom and scanned the room again. Cameras had to be in there somewhere, right?

**COMMAND CENTER, THE BUS**

“Did you find anything out about the boy?” Ward asked, standing up as Coulson walked into the room. Skye was focused on sifting through Ben's laptop from the nearby sofa. Meanwhile Simmons had chosen to run a few more tests on the blood samples taken from Ben and the organic material found in his luggage. Ward himself had already finished examining Ben's baggage for possible harmful technologies.

“When he hacked the database, he was looking for answers about an incident that occurred a few months back,” Coulson told him. “Apparently Centipede kidnapped him a few months back. They put a tracking device in his ankle and killed his mother.”

“Centipede killed his mother and put a tracker in his ankle?” Skye turned away from the computer in her lap. “No wonder he ran when he saw us. The kid probably thought we were them. Also explains the encryptions on these files now that I think about it.”

“Have you gotten anything out of it yet?” Coulson asked.

“This thing is like Fort Knocks.” She shook her head. “He's put individual encryptions on every file on here. I can't even get to the web without having to put in a password.”

“Maybe Centipede wanted him to safe guard their information or something,” Ward mused.

“I doubt it.” Coulson beckoned toward the cell where Ben was. “Ben said that Centipede only killed his mother when they found out she didn't have any special abilities.”

“So they thought he was a gifted individual?”

“That would make sense.” Simmons quickly walked into the room, Fitz trailing close behind. “He has an unidentified antibody spread through his blood and his leukocyte levels are higher than I have ever seen before. And those cubes of organic material seem to make his platelets form into scabs. Fitz got curious and decided to see what would happen if he applied it to some of his own blood, and instead of forming a scab, it burst into flames.”

Ward blinked. “I didn't understand any of that other than the flaming part.”

“Do you know what could have caused the burning?” Coulson asked.

Jemma shrugged. “It could be the differentiations in his blood, or the antibodies, but I can't tell for certain without any further exploration into his biographical statistics. It doesn't help that the composition of the organic material is something I've never seen before. It's chemical compound is unreadable. It seems to be constantly shifting.”

“Which should be impossible,” Fitz added.

“But it isn't.”

The group turned, seeing the black haired teen standing in the corridor leading to the interrogation room. He wasn't looking at any of them, instead choosing to look at something in his hands. Other than the slightest tense in his jaw, he could easily be seen as calm and collected. Ward, however, still let his hand hover over his weapon holster.

“How did you get out?” he demanded.

Ben finally looked up, spreading his hands out in front of him, a few nuts and bolts slipping between his fingers. “I got a bit bored. Sorry.” He knelt down to pick up the few rivets that had fallen. “I must say, the mechanisms on the door were a bit more difficult to get through than the handcuffs.”

“You took apart the door and none of us noticed?” Skye said, mildly impressed.

“Er, no. I just made it think there was pressure leakage.” He lifted his hands a bit. “Is there somewhere I can put this down? Like, a bowl or something?”

For a moment no one said anything, and then Fitz grabbed a small bowl from the bar and walked over to him. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He let the bolts tumble into the bowl as he glanced at Skye. “Is that my computer?”

“Um.” She glanced at Coulson, who nodded slightly. “Yeah. I was just trying to get into a few files. Standard procedure.”

“Have you submitted any inputs yet?”

“Only one. Why?”

“I put a bug in the software. If too many entries are put in, the computer shuts down and wipes the drive.”

“How many trials does it take?” Coulson asked, trying to ease the tension.

“Four,” Ben said. “I would have made it just two, but it's a long code, I don't have the best memory, and I'm dyslexic.”

Skye offered a small grin. “I can't believe you even managed to modify one of Stark's high grade computers. They're supposed to be super-anti-hackable.”

He grinned back and shrugged, almost looking bashful. “In the end, computers are just computers. Though Stark's encryptions are rather thick and complicated.”

“Yeah, um, Coulson?” Ward glanced at Ben warily, as if he was about to pull a shiv out of his pocket and stick him in the gut. “Are you sure you don't want me to-”

“It'll be fine, Agent Ward,” Coulson assured.

Ben took the subtle accusation in stride. “I can take a look at the computer if that wouldn't be a problem.”

“I've barely gotten anything out of this.” Skye shrugged. “It would be nice to actually get somewhere.”

He walked over and sat down next to her, pulling the computer onto his own lap. He squinted some as the letters shifted and curved, but confidently tapped away at the keys. His hand moved up to his temple on habit, hesitating slightly before continuing to put in passwords.

“You usually wear glasses, don't you?” Skye asked.

“Yeah.” He spared her a glance. “Lost them a while ago. Still can see pretty well, though I do get the occasional headache every now and then.”

Ben focused more on his work, though he did notice the other agents talking quietly amongst themselves. Skye watched him over his shoulder, but otherwise said nothing to distract him. After a few more minutes of endless typing, Ben pressed the enter button.

“Done.” Streams of code faded into a basic desktop as he handed the computer to her. “Have fun.”

“Thanks, kid.” She began sifting through various files. “Where'd you learn all this hacking stuff anyways?”

“Family friends,” he said instantly. He hid a wince as Coulson perked up at that.

“We can contact them,” he offered, glancing to the side at Ward. “Perhaps after everything is sorted out you can go to them.”

“Unless social services get to me first,” Ben muttered, tapping his leg a bit. “But maybe. Not now though. I'd rather get my thoughts together before-”

A stroke of turbulence shook the plane viciously. Coulson and Ward grabbed a table to stay standing. Loose bolts flew to the carpeted floor with a soft thud. He cringed, suddenly realizing what was going on. Either Zeus was in a bad mood, which was almost always, or....

“Nightinghawk,” he whispered, instantly going into overdrive, pushing his computer out of Skye’s hands and into the crevice of the sofa. The lights flickered. Something heavy fell to the floor and shattered. When the lights stabilized, a young teen stood in the middle of the room, her combat boots placed in the midst of splintered glass. A dark trench coat hung heavily on her shoulders and nearly brushed the floor. Her dark hair covered most of her face.

Ward analyzed her instantly as a threat and reached for his gun. As if bored, the girl raised a hand and thrust her palm outward. He felt something constrict around his stomach before suddenly being thrown against a wall, his gun flinging against a wall. He hung, seemingly tied to the wall by absolutely nothing.

Alarms flared in Coulson’s mind as he aimed his pistol at the stranger. The intruder looked up at him instead of assaulting him like she had Ward, her silvery-grey eyes oddly out of place behind the dark curtains framing her pale face. For a moment, the two stared at each other, everyone else in the room frozen in apprehension.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Coulson said. “Release my agent and we can talk about this.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Coulson,” the girl replied, “but I can’t do that.”

She snapped the fingers of her other hand. Coulson felt as if rope were being tied around his limbs, but when he looked down there was nothing except air. He could still move his eyes, though, and the rest of his face; but his joints just weren’t cooperating with him. Glancing to the side, he saw that Skye was frozen in a much similar fashion. Ben, however, still had complete motor control. Then again, the kid looked just about as freaked out as anyone else would be.

“What have you done to them?” Coulson demanded.

“You shouldn’t worry,” the stranger told him. “Nothing is permanent. Once I leave, all of you should be able to move properly again. Sorry about making the ride a bit bumpy, though. Appearing in places moving at hundreds of miles per hour can be difficult and requires excess amounts of energy. Oh, and your pilot is a bit... tied down at the moment as well, in case you are wondering. She can still pilot the plane, but she isn't going to be marching in here anytime soon. No cavalry today.” She looked over at Ben. “We need to go.”

Ben stood up slowly, his face suddenly void of any fear he had been feeling earlier. “You didn’t have to do this. They’re good people-”

“Who will get us killed,” she snapped. “Now, we need to get going. The director wants to talk to you.”

“If he really wants to talk to me, then why didn’t he come himself?”

“You _know_ why he can’t come. It’s more dangerous for him to come rather than me, and we can't afford to lose him. Now _get over here._ ”

Ben cautiously moved toward her. The girl – she had to be Nightinghawk – turned back to Coulson.

“I want you to know that we mean no harm. All we want is peace and quiet and to stay under the radar. Obviously, Benton has neglected this fact and as such you're going to look for him and, I suppose, myself. However, if you do that, many people could be jeopardized, or even killed. I know that your higher ups will most likely not approve of stopping the search for us, so in the case that they decline that option, you and your team must take the job. It is imperative that you do.”

“Why?” Coulson asked.

Behind her hair, he could almost see a sympathetic smile on her face. “That's a complicated question, Agent Coulson. But you'll learn, eventually.” She grabbed Ben's arm. “Oh, and another thing. Don't worry.”

Before he could respond, she pulled something out of her pocket and whispered something under her breath. In an instant, a swirling vortex of sand surrounded the pair. Ward fell to the ground as the sand settled, Coulson and Skye gasping slightly as the invisible ropes eased away from him.

“What _the hell,_ ” Ward growled, “was _that?"_  

**CENTRAL PARK, NEW YORK**

Ben stumbled away from the cloaked figure, spitting sand out of his mouth. She was used to seeing that, though, seeing how many demigods had never managed to acclimate to Egyptian preferences of travel. Ben bent over with his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths of fresh air between coughing up sand. After a moment, he straightened up and glared at the girl next to him.

“Why is it, Nightinghawk,” he gasped, “that you always manage to make me swallow sand whenever I'm near you?”

“I've been telling you for years,” she said stoically, “to not leave your mouth open while teleporting.”

He scowled. “I didn't even want to go with you. I mean, I was being careful and everything! And they knew stuff about Centipede!”

“Ben-” she tried.

“You don't _know_ what it's like to lose someone!” Ben shouted. “You don't know what it's like to not be able to bury your own mother after running away from the bastards that killed her! The worst thing you've ever been through is being lied to about someone's death! So just stay out of my business!”

Nightinghawk stiffened. A dangerous glint reached her eyes. The glare she shot at Ben made him take a step away from her. _“Do not,”_ she hissed, “speak of that which you know _nothing_ of. I never _said_ I understand what you're going through. All I know is that going to SHIELD will cause the deaths of _many_ people. So if you feel like grieving by being angry, _do it without killing people._ ”

Ben stared. He hadn't even meant to bring up... _that._ And she was right, he had no right to bring it up. But she was also lying! Going to SHIELD wouldn't kill anyone!

He shook himself. “Look, I'm sorry about bringing up your friend, but SHIELD would never kill any of us without reason to.”

Nightinghawk appraised him. “You've got it wrong. Coulson wouldn't. But _SHIELD?_ They definitely would.”

Ben scowled as she turned and walked away. “They wouldn't! And either way, what evidence do you have that could even remotely prove that?”

“Past experience,” she said without turning around.

“What does that mean?” She didn't respond. “Hey, I'm talking to you.” She kept quiet. “Nightinghawk!” He grabbed her arm.

Ben almost immediately found himself pinned against a tree, Nightinghawk's forearm pressed against his Adam’s apple. She had a blank slate expression on her face, but her eyes blazed with fury.

“ _How many times_ do I have to tell you to stop asking about my past?” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was only a thin sheet of concentration that was keeping her sharp tongue from showing.

Ben swallowed roughly. “You brought it up.”

Nightinghawk shifted her arm about two inches counterclockwise and pressed down. Ben felt his airway start to get crushed as his chin was forced upward. He clawed at her arm and flailed his legs at her, but she didn't seem to feel any of his attack.

“If you say one more word about my past, I will not hesitate to kill you,” Nightinghawk said, her voice threateningly even. “My orders were simple: find Benton Fuller and get him away from SHIELD. You are now away from SHIELD. My job is done. If I wanted to, I could kill you.” She released him, letting him gasp for air on the ground. “But I don't feel like dirtying my hands right now, so I think I'll stick with letting you live a few more hours longer.”

“What,” Ben spluttered, staggering to his feet, “in _Hades_ made you so-”

He stopped abruptly as the point of an abnormally long blade touched his chin near his Adam’s apple. Nightinghawk's expression remained as stoic as it had always been.

“I have a feeling you do not want to finish that sentence.”

Needless to say, Ben said absolutely nothing. Nightinghawk pulled her katana away from his throat and put it in a sheath attached to her back. He stared as it vanished into thin air. She rolled her eyes at his expression and started walking off. Ben stared at her for a moment, and then hobbled after her.

“Seriously, though,” he said. “Did you have to do that?”

“When it comes to you?” she returned. “Yes. I do.”

“You really shouldn't,” he mumbled. “It hurts to breath now.”

Ben heard her take a deep breath. “Quit complaining. At least I didn't _punch_ you in the throat.”

“How does that make any difference?” he croaked.

“Me punching you in the throat could cause your larynx to break, which could kill you. You'd choke on your own blood before I could snap my fingers and call the Grey Sisters.”

Ben stared at her. The way she said these things so calmly.... A shiver ran down his spine, a few memories from his time with Centipede resurfacing. She sighed and passed a hand over her face, shaking her head.

“Look, just ignore that,” she muttered. “I'm not in the best mood. And you should know fairly well that I have a tendency to exaggerate when I'm pissed off.”

“Yeah. Whatever you say.” He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. After knowing Nightinghawk for over three years and apparently becoming the closest thing she had to a friend, he had come to terms with the fact that most of the time she was shrouded in eternal darkness. But there was always something about what she said or how she acted that made him believe that Nightinghawk really did have a sunny side to her naturally dark exterior.

And that something intense had made her that way.

“Honestly,” Nightinghawk said, “it could be a lot worse for you-”

She suddenly stopped walking, sharply inhaling a breath. No, Ben thought. It was more of a wheeze. Followed by a hacking cough. Ben took a cautious step closer.

“Are-” He cleared his throat. “Are you alright?”

Nightinghawk wiped something away from the corner of her mouth and straightened up. “I – I'm fine.” She started walking again, though somewhat slower.

“Are you sure?” Ben continued. Even if he hated most of her guts, he wasn't going to let her just run herself into the ground.

“I'm fine,” she hissed. “We just need to get to the others, make sure those SHIELD agents didn't leave any bugs on you, and then I can leave.”

“Maybe you should talk to Will Solace when we get to camp,” Ben offered.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don't need to talk to Will. I'm fine.”

“You don't seem fine.”

“Well, I am,” she snapped. “Now just follow me, in silence. We need to find a taxi to take us to the hotel.”

“Hotel? What hotel?”

She exhaled. “I did say silence, didn't I?”

“What hotel?” Ben pressed. He stopped walking. “I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where I'm going.”

Nightinghawk turned to glare at him. “We're going to a hotel to make sure you don't have any bugs on you. Telling you exactly what's going on would kinda ruin the point of getting any devices on your person off.”

“Why would you think I have a bug on me? It's not like-”

“Ben, why did you have to cut open your ankle after your mother died?”

A mixture of emotions fluttered through his mind. Regret, shock, guilt – and then anger. Directed straight at Nightinghawk. “Do _not_ speak of that instance. You have _no right-_ ”

“Answer the question and I'll never bring it up again.”

He stared at her. One thing Nightinghawk never failed to do: surprise someone over and over again. Ben narrowed his eyes. “You won't hold to that.”

She gave him a dull look. “My father is a man truth. I honor that along with him. Whenever I make a promise, I hold to it. Unless, of course, the other person goes back on it. Then it isn't much of a promise.”

He held her gaze for all of five seconds before lowering his eyes. “Fine. I had to cut my ankle in order to get a tracking device out of me.”

Nightinghawk nodded, like she already knew that would be his answer, and turned around to continue walking again. “That's exactly my point. SHIELD had every opportunity to tag you as well. We can't risk being discovered.”

Ben exhaled. She had a point. And seeing how he had nothing else to do, he followed her. “You do know it's kinda useless, hiding from them?”

“I said that in their plane, so yes.”

“Then why are we even doing this? There's no point hiding-”

“So we run.” She glanced at him. “It's well-known that we hide from people like SHIELD. And for good reasons. But everyone knows that we can't do that forever, so when the time comes, we'll just have to run. And pray that we don't get caught. I just want to allow the others to have at least a little breathing room before the tide comes.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. That had to be the most calm, collected, insightful sentence Nightinghawk had uttered throughout all the time he had known her for. That, he had to say, was more than a wee bit sad. Nightinghawk turned away from him and continued walking.

“C'mon,” she mumbled. “We should get going.”

Ben trudged on after her, trying to think of exactly what could have happened to make her the way she was. A horrible childhood? Ben almost immediately cast that to the side. Whatever had happened had to've happened within the last few years, at most back when she was eleven. If something traumatic had occurred back when she was eleven, then it would make sense as to why she occasionally brought up a somewhat cheery comment, but almost always replied with all the gloom and doom she can; she would have had enough time to get over some of the shock of what happened, but the shock would still be there and could have changed who she had been.

Ben thought of that for a moment. If what he had just thought was true, then why wasn't _he_ randomly blurting out dark comments? He hadn't been exactly charming, but he hadn't been like the brooding Nightinghawk with the agents, had he? He was fairly sure he wasn't. But then again, that was in his perspective. He had no way of knowing how the others had taken his response.

Another idea popped into his mind. Did Nightinghawk think that the way she acted was normal? Was she only responding toward his remarks out of anger due to the fact that she didn't understand why he was irritated with her antics?

Ben looked up at Nightinghawk as she stumbled into a tree. He sighed. “Seriously, what is going on?”

Nightinghawk straightened herself. “It's nothing. Just... whenever I teleport the way I do, I expend a large amount of energy. So I get-” She yelped and fought as she was suddenly picked up by Ben. “What are you doing!? Put me down!”

He put up with her beatings long enough to make sure she was securely on his back. When she continued, he allowed himself to get annoyed. “Hey! Calm down! You aren't going to last long on your own two feet and I'm not leaving you in the middle of monster infested New York, so give it up!”

After another few moments of trying to get her to calm down, Nightinghawk resigned herself to the fact that Ben was most likely right. And either way, if she _was_ in her best shape, he would probably be keeled over on the floor coughing up blood.

Ben shifted slightly. “So where is this hotel you speak of?”

Nightinghawk gripped his shoulders tightly. “It's the Bentley Hotel, on the corner of East 61st Street and York Avenue.”

“Kay. And where are we?”

“Central Park.”

He nodded. “You should probably rest for now. You sound like you're about to pass out.”

She was silent for a moment, and Ben started thinking she was already asleep. Then she said, “The room number is twenty three. Second floor.”

Nightinghawk slipped her arms in front of Ben slowly, her head falling onto his shoulder as her eyes closed. Maybe... just this once... she could get real sleep....

Ben had started walking long before Nightinghawk had fallen asleep, and by the time she was completely out of it he had finally gotten out of Central Park. As he walked down the sidewalk toward Bentley Hotel, Ben tried acting like every other New Yorker in the nearby vicinity would be giving an unconscious teen a piggyback ride in the early evening hours. He was fairly certain a good amount of the citizens walking by him were giving him strange glances, but he was also fairly certain that most of them had seen weirder things.

Like Manhattan strewn to bits in what seemed like milliseconds by means only demigods knew of.

Or an alien invasion merely nine months after that.

And Tony Stark's inventions, which typically ended up nearly killing someone in the process of being showed off to the world.

Ben shook himself and continued walking down the street. New York was New York; weird things were always going to happen, no matter what anyone did.

The sign of the hotel came into view after Ben had walked a few blocks. He shifted Nightinghawk slightly, bringing her up a bit more on his back. He waved to a few people who stared at him as he walked in.

“Had a long night,” he said, quickly moving up the stairs and to the second floor. He searched quickly for the room, eventually finding it. He raised a hand to knock-

The door sprung open, barely giving him time to move his hand. A dark haired, pale teen stood in front of the doorway. Though he was being subtle, Ben got the feeling that the guy deliberately was blocking his only way of entering the room. The demigod shifted Nightinghawk slightly, causing the other's nightmarish eyes to turn to the unconscious girl.

“What happened to her?” he demanded.

“Depends. Who's asking?” Ben shot back at him.

The stranger looked him dead in the eyes. “Benton Fuller, is it?”

He said nothing.

“I'm surprised you don't recognize me. Then again, it has been a while.” He paused slightly. “My name is Nico di Angelo.”

So... not as much of a stranger as a distant acquaintance?

Ben looked the other over again, a habitual doubt filling his mind. If he was Nico di Angelo, then the abundance of dark clothing could be accounted for. Same for the feeling of absolute death radiating from him....

“So what happened to her?”

“She fell unconscious after using too much of her energy or something.”

Nico looked at Nightinghawk again. “Okay. Come on in.”

Ben followed him as he walked back into the room. The suite was quite plain, with little more than a backpack and a messy bed to show that the room was inhabited. Nico waved at the bed.

“Set her down there, then come over here.” Nico closed and locked the door before walking over to the backpack and opening it up. He pulled some sort of scanner out of the pack. “I'd like to get this over and done with as quickly as possible.”

 

 


	2. Anger Management

**LEBANON, TENNESSEE**

Chloe's senses were telling her to run, but she managed to keep from bolting right on the spot. She had gone through a whole entire war, plus some. She was fairly certain she could keep it together for just a few more minutes. At least, until she could get into a deserted alley and confront the idiots tailing her.

Two men, one wearing a leather jacket, the other a plaid shirt, had been following her since she had accidentally winced in public as a ray of sun caught her eyes. Which, typically, meant they were vampire hunters. In the early 2000's, she wasn't completely certain that was a very good thing.

Chloe felt for the wand in her pocket, gripping it tightly as she turned the corner and vanished into the shadows of a stack of boxes. The two men followed, pulling what looked like silver knives out into the open. She nearly shook her head at their stupidity. They were going around flaunting weapons about, in public, at bloody two o'clock.

She crept close to the one with the plaid shirt. Silently disarming him with a spell, she caught the knife and put her wand to his throat. The other turned, instinctively putting his knife to her throat, but paused when he saw where her hand was.

“Is that... a piece of wood?”

Chloe frowned. He didn't seem to know what a wand was, and yet he was hunting her? She shook it off for the moment. “Tell me why you're following me, or I slit his throat.”

He must have been used to being threatened like that, because he barely flinched. “I don't think you want to do that, girly.”

She practically growled. “'Girly'? You would probably cower if I told you who I am! I have-”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before, Brit.”

The other gave him a stern glare. “Dean. Seriously. Witch.”

“Oh.” Dean shifted slightly. “A witch. Thanks for picking this one Sam.”

He didn't seem any less enthusiastic. Just more wary. Which threw Chloe off a bit. They _obviously knew_ about the real world. But they also _obviously didn't._ The two were walking paradoxes. They were opposites in a jar. She shook the conundrum aside for the moment.

“Just tell me why you're following me.”

Dean frowned as if he too was confused. “Are you new to this or something? We are hunters. You are a vamp-witch thing. We're supposed to kill you.”

She felt herself grow tired, as if twenty years had been added to her frame. She lowered her wand from the other's neck. “Why? Why do you _have_ to kill me?”

Dean didn't drop his knife from her chin. “Because you're a monster that kills people for fun!”

Chloe couldn't help the anger that rushed through her system at the comment. She stared the man straight in the eyes. “You think it's _fun? Fun_ to have to run _everyday_ of my life? _Fun_ to have nearly killed everyone I _ever_ knew!? Just because of some stupid instinct heightened by postmortem depravity!?” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “You have _no idea_ who I am, what I'm like – and yet you still try to kill me? Have you ever thought that amongst the ginormous population of witches and vampires that at least a few are good and not evil?”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we've tried that before. Time and _time_ again! But they all go bad.”

“And you haven't done something bad in your lives?” She quickly swatted his hand away, trying to keep from breaking his fingers from just that simple movement. “I can smell it all over the both of you. Death. Things _worse_ than death. I suppose I'll have to find another Hunter to take care of _you_.”

Dean had stumbled and winced a bit from the slap to his hand. Chloe merely turned away. “Hey! You can't just walk away from something like this!”

“I'm not. I'm just postponing it. You can go ahead and try killing me if you wish. I don't know how that will go, though. I'll try my best to only incapacitate you and not kill you.”

Sam started to say something, but out of nowhere the boxes Chloe had used as cover to lure the two of them away from the road sprung across the alley as if a door had opened behind them. Chloe jumped back and hissed lowly, no longer caring much about Sam and Dean. A tall man and a brunette woman walked out of the box, which was rather bizarre since there seemed to be barely any room for one person, let alone two. Sam and Dean stared. The brunette – who Chloe noticed to be taller than herself, even though the woman herself was short – glanced at the three people in the alley.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Dean demanded, glaring at the man.

The man spun on his heel, tugging at a bow tie that was around his neck. “TARDIS cut a trip a bit short, I'm afraid. Brought us here.” He suddenly turned toward Chloe, his face brightening even more so. “Ah, Chloe! Long time, no see?”

She let him grab her hand and shake it, though she pulled away as quickly as possible. She threw a glance at Sam and Dean. “You... know these people?”

“Yes!” he replied cheerfully. “Yes, yes I do know them! See, this is Sam and that's Dean. And you know Clara. But they're brothers, Winchesters to be precise. They hunt things for a living – it's in the family business.” His grin widened as he leaned in closer. “They've even been through _time._ Without my help!”

She blinked, trying to keep from going rigid. “Oh. Winchesters.” She didn't sound very pleased.

The Doctor straightened. “You've heard of them?”

She nodded. “They were in a history book. And various other books. Long story, I'll tell it to you later.”

“Great! You do know I love a good story.” He looked over at Sam and Dean, frowning. “Were you _hunting_ Chloe?”

“In their defense,” she said before they could answer, “I put my wand to Sam's throat. Though they were following me first.”

Sam took a step forward, shaking his head and putting his hands up. “W-wait a minute. So, you two know each other? Why didn't you tell us?”

“How would I have known you persecute others just based off who they know and who they don't know?” she shot back.

“We don't-”

“I know plenty of vampires and wizards who don't know a bloody thing about the Doctor, but do not deserve a stake of any kind being shoved in their torso!” Chloe growled a bit, turning away. “It seems like all you need is the Doctor's name and you stop attacking.”

Dean spluttered, but the Doctor intervened. “Now, now. They've gotten better, Chloe. They used to just kill without thought of who the person was.”

She scowled. “Yeah. Whatever.”

She stormed into the TARDIS, the door slamming shut behind her. Clara winced a bit. “Does she have to-”

“Always do that?” the Doctor finished. “Er... yes. But only when angry.” He glanced at Sam and Dean. “She's a bit sensitive to prosecution. Not only was she herself victimized, but her mother was killed because of her family being discriminated upon.”

“Her mother was killed?” Sam asked.

“Yes. In the year 3008.”

“3008?”

“Chloe was two. Photographic memory kept her from forgetting.” He frowned a bit. “She has quite a bit of a temper, so I would advise you not to ask her about it at the moment.”

“Yeah, we kinda found that out already – the temper part that is.” Sam glanced at the door of the TARDIS. “But 3008?”

“It's a long story,” he said. “She made a paradox, I got curious, we found out about each other. Quite a bit of a story, actually. I doubt you'd want to hear about it.”

Dean blinked, shaking his head. “You do know she's a vamp, right?”

The Doctor sighed. “Yes, I know she's a vampire. She gets her blood from blood banks. She's been clean for almost four years. Either way, she isn't the kind of vampire that you're thinking of.”

“What do you mean?”

“She's what some call a _machaera dente,_ ” the Doctor said hurriedly. “It's a type of vampire.”

“ _Type_ of vampire?”

“There's a whole entire species and you didn't think there would be subgroups?”

“Well....” Dean shook his head. “Yeah, that makes sense. But we've never met any vampire other than the ones that look like a shark puked up all its teeth straight into their mouths.”

Clara spoke up for the first time. “Well, maybe there aren't any.”

Dean only frowned more. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there are, but maybe not yet.” She shrugged. “Maybe they evolved. After all, Chloe comes from a thousand years from now. A lot can happen in a thousand years.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we should get going.” The Doctor glanced at the police box. “Last time Chloe was in the TARDIS.... Well, let's just say it wasn't very pretty.”

He quickly slipped into his beloved time machine, followed by the rest of the group. He stopped midway to the console though, an eyebrow raised at the redheaded girl. She tilted her head at him from where she was perched on the railing on the other side of the room, standing on it as if the thing was the ground itself.

“What?” She gracefully stepped down from the rail. “I didn't feel like exploring.”

“You always feel like exploring,” the Doctor said, unfreezing and moving forward again. “Why not now?”

Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you think?”

“Well, either it's about those two-” He gestured loosely toward the Winchesters. “-or it's something personal. Could be both. You never liked talking about things that were personal, or people who hunted your kind.”

She bristled slightly, but took a deep breath and looked away. “I'm just unused to how blunt people are in this godforsaken country. I miss Britain.” She leaned back against the railing. “And I'll try to stick to the rules this time.”

“What rules?” Sam asked.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I understand people being cautious around me; I don't understand why people think it opportune to become a bigot when in my vicinity.”

Dean glared at her. “Do not call him-”

She growled. “I wasn't calling _him_ a bigot, you arsehole. I was talking to you!”

“Now then.” Clara put her hands up. “We don't need a fight.”

“Too late for that,” Dean muttered.

Sam nudged him in the ribs. “Dean, shut up.”

“Oh, no.” Chloe smirked a bit. “He's just stating the obvious.” She turned back to Sam. “But to answer your question? Rule number one: the Doctor lies. Rule number seven: never run when scared. Rule number eight: never ignore a coincidence. Unless you're busy, then always ignore a coincidence. Number one: don't wander off. Twenty-seven: never knowingly be serious. And four hundred eight: time is not the boss of you.”

“You said one twice,” Sam noted.

“Yes. I did.” She shrugged. “Well, technically he did. I just quoted him.”

“Word for word.” The Doctor grinned widely. “How exactly did you get a photographic memory?”

“How did you acquire two hearts?” she replied.

He nodded. “Good point.”

Dean frowned. “He has two hearts?”

Chloe nodded. “Two healthy hearts by the sound of them. And plenty of other internal organs that only he knows the name of.”

“And you feel no urge to suck his blood?”

She ignored the various glances sent back and forth between the two of them and wrinkled her nose. “Ew. No. He's a Time Lord. Not human.”

“So it has to be human blood?”

“As far as I know? Yes.” She shifted. “I honestly haven't thought about it, but I doubt it. I mean, animal blood repels us. Werewolf blood doesn't work. Dead blood, unicorn blood, kappa blood-” She shivered. “Don't even get me started.”

“Dead man's blood works on your type of vampire?”

“Dean-” Sam started.

“No,” Chloe interrupted, staring directly at Sam. “Let him ask his questions.” She turned back to Dean. “Yes and no. Dead man's blood isn't the tastiest of things, but only some are, er, _allergic_ to it.”

“Allergic?”

“I don't like being sunlight; it hurts my eyes. But others love going out in the sun.” She shrugged. “It's much like how some people like peanut butter, but are allergic to it. Same with dead man's blood. Anything else?”

“Where are your fangs?” he said immediately. “I'd love to know.”

“Want to see them?”

“I've seen plenty of-”

Chloe disregarded whatever he was about to say and unsheathed her fangs, eyes turning a blood red. Two long, serrated fangs slipping out of Chloe's mouth, a row of smaller fangs jutting out of her gums wherever there was space between her saber teeth. Sam and Dean twitched a bit, most likely fighting off the instinct to take out their stakes and run Chloe through. Clara jumped a bit as well, though the Doctor merely grinned widely.

“A saber toothed vampire!” He clapped his hands, spinning around joyously and fiddling around with the TARDIS controls. “Ha! Bet you didn't see _that_ coming, eh?”

Sam blinked. “No.... How many different types of vampires are there again?”

Chloe turned her gaze to him. “Dozens. From what I know. I've only been a vampire for about four years.”

“And how many people have you killed within that time?” Dean snapped.

For the first time, she winced, seeming to shrink in on herself. Her fangs drew back and she stepped away from them, subconsciously hugging herself. The Doctor looked over, eyes wide, but brows furrowed in concern. What had he been thinking, just letting the Winchesters talk about whatever they wanted to with Chloe? Obviously one or the other would have come to a sensitive subject such as this.

Chloe looked away from the Winchesters. “Ask the Doctor. I'll be in the astronomy room.”

“Chloe-” the Doctor started, but she had already zipped away down one of the corridors at a lightning fast speed. He sighed, pulling a lever on the console before looking at Dean. “If you really want to know, she's only had fresh blood from three people. But... she's killed a lot more.”

“Because she's a vampire-”

“Because she's been through _wars,_ ” he snapped. “Endless wars, wars she could have never hope to end in her lifetime!” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Some of her closest friends were killed; she still blames herself. She considers herself a mass murderer because she urged people to go into war with her.” He moved toward the corridor Chloe had gone down. “I'll find her. Meanwhile-” He turned his head back to the others. “-you, Dean Winchester – _learn manners._ ”

He hurried off toward the astronomy room, shaking his head. He had told them both to keep their tempers to themselves, hadn't he? But then again, the Winchesters were the Winchesters. They barely ever listened. And even if they tried, the outcome was rather the opposite of what they were attempting to achieve. If the Doctor was being honest, he wasn't completely certain which way he would have preferred the Winchesters to go. Dean could have made things much more complicated and messy had he just had a random outburst in the middle of nowhere. But still – the outcome was seeming to be more like burnt fish fingers and custard instead of perfectly cooked fish fingers and custard. Not as good as he'd hoped.

“Chloe?”

His voice echoed through the halls of the TARDIS. Not a perfectly good sign, though not exactly a very bad one; Chloe had a tendency to both hang in the background and make no noise at the same time. Speaking of that.... The Doctor really needed to try and get her to talk more often. Ever since he had found her – or rather, she found him – Chloe hadn't talked much. She hadn't said why she was there. Just gave a short, detailed description of who she was and where she came from, gave him some information to help him with a few things, and then walked away. Of course, he had run into her a few times afterward. Like just a few minutes ago. Typically the TARDIS would send him somewhere strange – he recalled meeting her once, out of all the places on Earth for a British vampiric witch to be, in Luxor, Egypt – and he'd find Chloe not all too far away from where he had been left. He began wondering about why she had chosen to come to America this time....

The Doctor turned into the astronomy room. “Chloe? Are you in here?”

As he had been expecting, there was no answer. He walked past a large astrolabe and turned around a spinning piece of Gallifreyan architecture. For a moment, his hearts clenched. He missed home. He wanted to be on Gallifrey. He wanted everything that had happened to be a bad memory, a bad dream. But life never worked out like that, so he just needed to... move on. If that was possible.

He exhaled as he saw Chloe. She was curled up in a window seat overlooking the stars around them. He walked toward her, making sure she heard his footsteps even though she would have already heard his hearts or his breathing or anything else she could make out with her extraordinary hearing. Slowly, almost gingerly, he put his hand on her shoulder.

She flinched at the touch, but didn't turn toward him. “Doctor....” She shrugged his hand away. “I told you not to touch me again. Last time....”

“Last time you passed out for four days straight, stuck in a vision of my past.” He nodded. “I know how risque it is.”

“Risky,” she correct, leaning her head against the glass. Her glasses made a small dink against the material, which slowly died down. “Malapropisms.”

The Doctor grinned lightly. She was a smart one, he had to say. “Yeah. That's what I meant. But it has to be skin contact, right? So I'll just be careful.”

She was quiet for some time before she decided to reply. “Was it always this lonely when you were traveling?”

He let out a small sigh. “At times it was. Especially when my companions... left.” He remembered Rory and Amy's face, followed by Rose, Donna, Jack, everyone else he had ever encountered. He shivered, pushing away from his thoughts. There was no way he wanted to go through another of his dark times. He carefully sat down near Chloe's feet, glancing out of the window she was looking at. Like Chloe, he hated his photographic memory. “I don't like endings, you know. Just like you don't like reminiscing of old times.”

She nodded silently. “...Why are you here? Why did you follow me?”

“I know what went through your mind when Dean asked that question,” he said gently. “Your mum, your dad, James, Vivian and her brother.... And Zachary.”

Her arms tightened around her legs. “Don't... bring them up.”

“I can bring you back to them if you want.”

Chloe shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“Why not? You never told me why.”

“It's a long story.”

“I like stories. I carry many of them around with me. You and I are similar like that; we never run out of tales to tell. And we are always looking for more to add.”

Chloe shivered. “Doctor, please, I don't want to talk about it.”

“And I know that. I just want you to know that you can tell me anything, anything at all. I've kept more secrets than I've ever let anyone in the whole entire universe know of.”

She nodded.

Silence.

The Doctor waited.

She turned her face to look at him.

“Am I a horrible person, Doctor?”

The Doctor stood up so suddenly that Chloe nearly had to do a double take, only to have her face clamped in a vice-like grip with the Doctor's hands.

“Doctor-!”

“Chloe.” She stopped wriggling at the look he was giving her. “ _Never_ think that you are a horrible person. Horrible people are people who kill for pleasure, who never feel remorse for their actions. You have helped save countless of millions of lives. You are a savior. And no matter what the Winchesters say, it was _not_ your idea to become a vampire.”

For a moment, she just stared. Then she let her hands and her gaze drop from the Doctor. She felt like blurting out some random, obscene phrase that was on the tip of her tongue. Something along the lines of, _Is that what you told yourself about the Time War?_ But she kept her anger to herself. He was simply trying to help. He was _always_ trying to help. But how do you put together a puzzle that has most of its pieces missing? The Doctor put his hands to his sides. Chloe wrapped her arms around her legs tightly, feeling cold for the first time in years.

“...You wanted to know why I don't want to go back?”

The Doctor looked up. “Yes, I did.”

She took her time answering, slowly looking back up at him. She squared her jaw and swallowed some air. “I... I'm losing my memory of my friends.”

 


	3. The Tool of Paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, guys! I did not expect the last few weeks to be as busy as they were, and the chapter is a bit shorter than I was hoping it would be, but the next chapter should be coming out relatively soon compared to this update. Thanks for the support!

**BENTLY HOTEL, NEW YORK**

Ben fell back into a chair, exhaling. He glanced at the pale teen across the room as he put his gadgets away. “I told you I had nothing on me.”

Nico sat down on the edge of the bed Nightinghawk was lying on, touching her forehead with one hand while the other zipped up his bag. “I never said that you had a tracker on you. Nightinghawk just wanted to be careful.” He frowned slightly. “Talking about being careful. Was she coughing up blood earlier?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Not that I know of. But she was coughing pretty badly. Why?”

“She's too powerful. You know what happens to demigods who are too powerful.”

He shifted. “What does it mean? If she coughs up blood.”

Nico hesitated. “She doesn't like talking about it.”

“She doesn't like talking about anything.”

“Ben, it's a personal matter. I'm not going to betray her trust like that.”

Nightinghawk shifted as if hearing them talking about her. Nico glanced at Ben one more time before shaking her shoulder. “Hey. It's almost noon. You've been asleep for four hours.”

“That's too long.” She sat up, fighting off a foggy mind as she stood up and grabbed what had been taken from her. “We need to get going.”

Ben raised an eyebrow when she pulled a hat out of midair and tugged it onto her head. “You just woke up. Take a few minutes to get ready or-”

“Ben, we just took a four hour long breather. I'm already fully awake, and you've been able to relax for a while now. We're leaving. Now.”

Ben caught his backpack as Nightinghawk threw it at him, grumbling as he stood and swung it over his shoulder. He followed her out the door, unappreciative of her natural long-legged stride. Nico tagged along at the very back, holding his own pack over his shoulder. While he checked out at the registry desk with a very freaked out looking cashier, Nightinghawk and Ben simply walked toward the doors of the hotel and out onto the sidewalk. Ben didn't miss the strange looks on most of the faces directed at them.

He hurried to walk alongside Nightinghawk. “Why does everyone look-”

“It's nothing,” she said quickly. “Don't mind them.”

“And what about Nico-”

“He's already gone.” She shifted her hat to hide her face more. “Either way, he'd just provide more unwanted attention. Move faster.”

Ben sighed to himself, practically jogging. He was used to Nightinghawk being like this – blunt, aggressive, and bossy. But earlier on the plane, when she was talking to strangers like it had never bothered her before, _and_ apologizing for being a nuisance? Ben had never seen her apologize for anything before – much less deliver a speech in front of a small crowd of onlookers. Hell, she was right now fidgeting simply walking down the street!

“How do you even know Nico?” Ben shook his head. “I only met him because of the whole End-of-the-World Part Two Extravaganza.”

“It's a long story. Don't ask.”

He shook his head again and watched her hail a taxi. After a while of no success, he forcibly put her hand down. “Stop. Let me try.”

He let out a loud whistle the way only New Yorkers could. Almost immediately, a taxi pulled up near them. He shrugged to Nightinghawk. “Sorry. Better luck next time?”

It was her turn to shake her head as she walked over to the taxi, opened the door, and slipped inside. Ben followed her in, giving the driver the address of Camp Half-Blood. He thought he caught a glimpse of a poster depicting both him and his mother, but then the care was taking off.

**CAMP HALF-BLOOD, LONG ISLAND SOUND**

“Hurry up.”

Ben exhaled, trying to keep from starting a fight with her as they ran down the hill. For some reason unknown to him, Nightinghawk had gotten increasingly antsy as they neared the camp. It was strange; he had never known anyone to be nervous when returning back home. Although, she had gotten rid of her hat and he himself understood that Chiron and the rest of the camp most likely weren't happy about his sudden absence. Something in his stomach turned over as he thought of the questions that would be asked, but he still felt more relaxed since he no longer needed to look over his shoulder every other second.

Wait a minute.

He never told anyone about the trip other than Nightinghawk and Chiron, and his mom only told her colleagues at work. He doubted Chiron or Nightinghawk would be working alongside the likes of Centipede. Which means his mom had to have been working with someone from that horrid organization for quite some time in order to have become close enough friends to have mentioned two things: the summer camp, in order to tip them off; and the vacation, in order to let them plan the kidnapping. And the closest person to her from work was-

“You aren't injured are you?”

Ben looked up, blinking as he realized he had started lagging behind. “Uh, no. I'm not.”

“Good. Now hurry up.”

Ben ran up to her, trying to keep her pace as she stormed toward the Big House. He was about to ask her why she needed to go so fast when he noticed all the heads turning to look their way. Attention never really got under his skin since he was often seen as the trouble child at his schools, but his previous thoughts were starting to make him paranoid. He tried to reach for Nightinghawk's arm, but his grip failed to stop her.

“Nightinghawk-”

“Stay quiet.”

“This is important-”

“We can talk about it in the Big House.”

“I don't want to tell Chiron yet.”

“Then you're being an idiot. He should know about whatever you're thinking.”

“I want to run it by you first.”

“That's an even worse idea.”

He practically growled as their feet pounded on the wooden porch. “I think the camp might be compromised.”

She halted with a hand on the frame of the front door, staying still for quite some time before looking over her shoulder at him. “After your talk with Chiron, meet me upstairs. It'll be the only door open.”

Ben blinked as she slipped inside the Big House, quickly following her. She walked straight into Chiron's room without knocking, while Ben entered a bit more cautiously. Chiron was writing a letter of some sort while in his wheelchair. Nightinghawk cleared her throat to get his attention.

“I found him, sir.”

Chiron immediately straightened up at the sound and twisted around to face them. His eyes skipped between Nightinghawk to Ben and back again. “Ah. Good. Did they see you?”

“Yes, but they have no idea who I am.”

He nodded. “We should try and be more cautious for now either way. Just in case.”

“Yes, sir.” She glanced at Ben. “I would recommend keeping tabs on Benton for now as well. SHIELD will be looking for him and he will most likely step out into their line of fire with the way he currently is reacting to modern crises.”

Ben spluttered. Nightinghawk just agreed to help him and hear him out, and now she was saying he wasn't supposed to be trusted!? What the hell!? He calmed down when Chiron raised a hand for quiet.

“I'll take it into consideration.”

She nodded and walked out of the room.

The silence in the room thickened as the door slid shut and Ben felt his muscles tense as he decidedly looked everywhere other than at Chiron. The Teacher of All Heroes remained quiet, obviously waiting for him to say something. He didn't know what to say, though. He didn't want to reiterate the long tale he had told the SHIELD agents, despite knowing that Chiron already knew his mother was missing and he had shown neither hide nor tail of himself for almost six months. There was a lot to talk about.

A small squeak came from Chiron's chair as he shifted, and Ben had to hold himself back on offering to fix the axle and wheels on his right side. “Your brothers and sisters were worried about you.”

He looked away and out the window, only to look back when he noticed some of the demigods were still watching the Big House. “I was busy.”

“With what?”

His mouth opened and closed. He should just tell him. Let him know everything. Chiron deserved to know, especially after all these years of helping him and his mom with moving around and finding safe places to stay. The fact that his mom and Chiron were close friends, however, didn't help with his indecision.

“Why don't you have a seat?”

Ben shifted before sitting down, fiddling with his fingers. “I didn't mean to cause any worry. Believe me, I would have contacted you or someone else if I could, but....”

Chiron noticed the tightness in his voice and let his expression soften. “Start at the beginning. I need to know everything.”

**2 nd FLOOR, BIG HOUSE,**

**CAMP HALF-BLOOD, LONG ISLAND SOUND**

Ben slowly crept up the strangely silent stairs of the Big House. Chiron had told him to head to his cabin, but he had a feeling that letting Nightinghawk wait for him longer than needed wasn't the best idea. The idea was tempting, though. He felt emotionally drained and fatigued. Just considering voicing his paranoia to Nightinghawk was definitely pushing his limits, but again. He didn't want to deal with her unadulterated fury on top of his half-brothers' and -sisters' severe beliefs. Though now that he's thinking about it, they might just blame it all on the whole entire Hephaestus cabin being cursed thing.

Sighing, Ben pushed open an open door and slipped inside a gothic styled room. The walls were black, as was the flooring, bedsheets, and bookshelves. He squinted in the half light, finding no trace of Nightinghawk. From what he knew, this was her personal room. Despite them being close for the past few years, he had never been allowed inside. In hindsight, he was never told why she had a personal room either. And it also looked nothing like what he would expect from a daughter of Apollo. He wandered inside and toward the French doors leading out to a small balcony facing the shore. A ladder scaled up the side of the wall up to the roof of the Big House. After a glance to the ground, he hesitantly started pulling himself up the ladder.

“You're going to kill yourself, you know,” Nightinghawk mumbled as she watched him slip slightly on the shingles.

“What?” He crouched and steadied himself before looking up at her.

“You're going to kill yourself trying to get up here. You're all klutzy and your form is wrong.”

He huffed. “Oh, thanks. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside now.”

“ _You_ came up here. I'm just trying to keep you from breaking your neck or something.”

Ben shifted closer to the ladder. “Fine then. Come down here.”

“We can talk up here, Ben.”

“Um, we Hephaestus kids have this thing about heights. It has something about falling. Off a mountain. Twice. Well, anything high up really, but-”

Nightinghawk sighed, flitting down to where Ben was within seconds. “Fine. Just don't throw up. I hate sick.”

Just as quickly, she slid down the ladder and climbed back inside her room. Ben was more than a bit less graceful on his way down the ladder, but he eventually got back into the room. Nightinghawk was across the room, turning the light fixtures on to make the room seem less gloomy.

“You said the camp might be at risk,” she prompted.

Ben shifted. “Yeah. You see, no one knew about the trip I was on except for you, Chiron, and a couple people at my mom's work. She's always been pretty good about making sure no one knows where we're going in case any of them are monsters in disguise or something. But recently, this guy from work has been getting pretty close to my mom. She told him that I go to a special camp during the summer, and even invited him over for dinner a few times.”

“And?”

“And she told him about the trip!” He started pacing up and down the length of her room as she took a seat on her bed. “You were listening in on my discussion with Chiron, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well, what if this guy was working with Centipede? As, like, some sort of undercover spy because they found something out that made them think I was special? And if that is the case, then he also knows about about the camp, right? Which means-”

“Ben.”

He forcibly closed his mouth over the next word and met her eyes. She seemed to understand what he was getting at, but didn't seem all too certain about the viability of his thoughts.

“I can see why you'd be worried, I really can.” He voice gentled slightly from her normal harsh tone. “But the camp is protected from outsiders, and that's only if what you're saying is true. And what you're saying just by itself has quite a few ifs attached to it. The possibility is rather low that it would be that exact guy anyways. Your house could have just been bugged or your car tagged.”

Ben tried to think of something else to say, something to prove himself right and her wrong, but nothing came. After a moment, he deflated and sat down in a desk chair. He rubbed at his face.

“You're right,” he relented. “I'm probably just being paranoid or something.”

“Paranoia is a useful tool,” she said softly. “You just need to learn how to differentiate what's useless from what's useful.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You think.” Her icy eyes met his again, unwavering. “Instead of rambling about possibilities, you consider both your theories and the facts. The facts should explain how rational your thoughts are in the long run and where the holes in your logic are.”

Ben blinked, and then turned away. He meant the question to be rhetorically, but as usual Nightinghawk was taking everything literally. Or maybe she was just giving him advice. He knew for a fact that she was paranoid, so it was clear she most likely used the same standards for testing herself. He managed to hide a wince as he realized that probably meant she berated herself constantly. He started and snapped his head up when a hand touched his shoulder.

“I'll check in with a few of my friends on the outside,” Nightinghawk said, a strange look on her face as she didn't quite meet his eyes. “They might know something about Centipede, if they're planning anything.”

“Um.” He stared at her dumbly. “Sure. Thanks. I guess.”

Ben thought he caught a glimpse of a small grin as Nightinghawk turned and began packing various things into a bag. “I'll have to be leaving pretty soon though. It's quite a distance to where they are, and I don't think I'm ready to use my teleportation abilities just yet.”

“Who are your friends?”

She was quiet for a moment, and he wasn't sure if he had overstepped her boundaries again, or if she had decided not to hear him, or something else inexplicably Nightinghawk-ish. As he shifted, though, she nodded to herself as if she had been mentally going through some sort of complicated list.

“I used to go to a school in Maryland,” she told him, “before I knew about Camp Half-Blood. I made a few friends, and they all wanted to be in some sort of secret agency. Last I heard, they managed to fulfill their dream. I haven't talked to them recently though.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, watching her fold laundry and put it into a bag before making it disappear from sight. Nightinghawk had friends. Well, he reasoned, she had to have been normal at some point. He never really thought about it before, but she had a noticeable tendency to neglect mentioning her parents and past friends. As a reserved individual himself, he shouldn't have been surprised. But it was still something to think about.

“Hey, Ben.”

He looked up and kept himself from jumping; she was, once again, standing right in front of him. He made sure to make a mental note to tell her off on her uncanny ability to scare the living daylights out of him every time they're together. “Yeah-” His voice cracked and he coughed to cover it up. “Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.” She gave him a serious look. “And get some actual food. I'll tell you as soon as I find anything connected to Centipede.”

He blinked, and then nodded and stood up. “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.” He shifted, decidedly looking anywhere other than Nightinghawk. “Thank you, for everything. And I'm sorry about how I was acting earlier. I acted without any thought for the camp or the other demigods.”

“It's understandable why you acted as you did. Anyone who doesn't see that is an idiot.” She offered him a slightly softened gaze before shrugging and walking toward the door. Ben followed, and made sure to close the door completely on his way out.

 


	4. The Ghosts of Past, Present, and Future Times

  **THE FOLLOWING MORNING,**

 ******COMPANION BEDROOMS, TARDIS**

“I'm telling you, something happened between the two of them.”

“Dean, go to bed.”

“No, Sammy. It takes a lot to get the Doctor to trust someone, let alone a species we've warned him about.”

“And? You know the Doctor has strange antics. There's nothing going on.”

“But what's all this about her being persecuted and victimized?”

Sam sighed. He was getting nowhere with Dean. As usual. He sat up so he could look him in the eyes.

“You're really _that_ bent on this?” he asked.

“Yes. I am. There has to be something they are hiding.”

“You mean besides all the Doctor's secrets?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. And somehow she knows about us from a history book? In the future? What's that about?”

“I don't know. But whatever it is, she didn't seem all too happy about it.”

He nodded, standing up and getting ready for the day. Sam followed his example, though he wasn't quite sure what for. He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't curious about Chloe. But he didn't want Dean to go interrogating her again. All sorts of madness would sprout from that.

Not to mention he had no idea which side he'd be on.

A short few moments later and the two brothers were wandering the halls toward the control room. They weren't all too surprised to hear the Doctor shouting what seemed like meaningless, crazy rambles. For some reason, Sam also wasn't very surprised when they heard Chloe replying to him as if everything was normal.

“No, Doctor, that would be subsection three hundred forty seven under section twenty-thirty-eight B.”

“But this has always been put in like this. Never any different!”

“I'm telling you, that's what it says in the manual.”

“Well, the creators of this put the quantum fusion chamber upside down.”

“Quantum fusion chamber?” Sam whispered to Dean.

“It's a chamber that fuses two different types of energy into one,” Chloe shouted.

The two brothers jumped slightly, Dean cursing as they walked into the control room. “Jesus. Did you have to do that?”

Chloe shrugged. “You two were confused. I thought I might help a bit.”

Dean shook his head, looking over the scene in front of him. The Doctor was trying to set up some complicated alien board game... which had a quantum fusion chamber and various other alien tech littered across it. The title was in an unidentifiable language consisting of strange, sharp marks. Chloe was across from the Doctor and was trying to help him set the game up. Sam walked up to them.

“What is this?”

“Monopoly,” the two answered.

“Why does Monopoly need a quantum fusion chamber?”

“Because,” Chloe said, pushing a computer chip into a section of the board, “regular Monopoly is boring.”

“And plus, this one lights up.” The Doctor grinned.

Chloe shook her head. “You, sir, are a child.”

“Well, if children are thousands of years old, then I suppose I am.”

She chuckled lightly. “To some vampires, yes. Even to some wizards. Dumbledore was one hundred fifteen when he died, though the oldest wizard on record is somewhere around eight hundred fifty years old.”

“Eight hundred fifty?” Dean repeated.

“Dumbledore?” Sam said at the same time.

Chloe froze, her grin disappearing slowly as she turned to look at the Doctor. “....They didn't know?”

He cringed slightly. “Er, no.”

“We didn't know what?” Dean demanded.

The vampire exhaled, putting a hand to her face. “Nothing. You really don't have to know-”

“Tell us.”

She growled, looking up and setting her jaw straight. “No.”

“If there's something you know-”

“If I tell you,” she hissed, “I could be killing millions.”

He quieted. Chloe looked away, wiping at a stray dust particle on the object in her hands. The Doctor shifted slightly.

“Chloe....”

“Yes?”

“You do know that they-”

“I know. But it won't be from me.” She paused for a moment. “I've already killed enough people.”

“Chloe, those deaths were not your fault-”

“I led them-”

“They willingly accepted.” The Doctor kneeled next to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, though he had originally been aiming for her face. “Either way, you know that they _need_ to find out. Otherwise....”

She looked away jerkily. “Otherwise... things could be worse. But I can't tell them.” Her lips pursed as she fell into deep thought.

The Doctor debated with himself about whether or not to tell her what he knew. But Chloe was already prying his hands away from him, so she was deciding for him. He exhaled. Of course, everything didn't have to play out the exact way he was thinking it would. And if he were to take the initiative, things could get quite a bit messier than they already were going to get.

Chloe moved across the room in a blur, leaning on the railing with crossed arms. The Doctor glanced at the Winchesters, seeing the questioning gleam in their eyes. He knew they were going to start grilling Chloe soon. And that things would get explosive if that ever happened.

“Anyways,” he said, clasping his hands together and hopping up to his feet. “Chloe and I were trying to figure out why we all met _here,_ at the exact same time, date, and location. Obviously the TARDIS wanted Clara and I here for something special; otherwise she wouldn't have stopped so abruptly.”

“And I typically don't just touch down in the middle of America,” Chloe added, waving a hand vaguely. “Typically I stay within the bounds of Britain.”

“What do you mean by 'touch down'?” Sam asked.

She raised her right hand, showing them a diamond ring on her finger. The band seemed to be made of pure silver, or something similar. Dozens of golden hourglasses were etched into the silver, creating a neutral contrast of colors that fit the elegant stone fitted on its top.

“It's called the Chronomatic Ring. It sends its wearer either backward or forward in time. I've only recently found out how to, er, _tame_ it.”

“'Tame' it?” Dean questioned.

“It used to just take me anywhere without me wanting to. I'd be in the middle of a conversation and I'd suddenly disappear and be in 2098.”

“Oooh! You've been to 2098?” The Doctor perked up a bit. “What happened?”

She grinned lightly. “Nothing much. A guy who wanted to keep himself from being born, a few muggings by humanoid aliens – oh! And a new drawing of Vincent's was found. Beautiful piece of artwork.”

He smiled widely at that. “A new piece? Brilliant. What was it of?”

“It was of a wheat field with-”

“Okay, okay.” Dean waved a hand in front of himself as if trying to erase the conversation. “Enough about art. Back to the main topic.”

Chloe exhaled. “You need to lighten up. Learn what small talk is.”

He ground his teeth together. “I don't need a _monster_ telling me to lighten up-”

She snarled. “Oh, really? And you aren't one?”

“At least I don't go around having to suck blood-”

A foot slammed down on the ground, and suddenly Chloe was speaking in rapid fire French. The Doctor could make out something about how she made one tiny slip up and the Winchesters thought it would be proper to just chase after her. She took a few steps toward Dean, shaking her hands at him. Her eyes flared a bright red before she finally stopped shouting. She could already tell that this was going to be quite a long day. Even if the Doctor tried to keep her temper dampened with silly sayings and practical jokes.

“You do know that we can tell what you're saying because of the TARDIS, right?” the Doctor said timidly.

She nodded. “I know that. What do you want me to say? Pardon my French?”

“Perhaps.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then cracked a smile, pointing at him. “ _You_ are breaking your own rule.”

He grinned back. “Never knowingly be serious. Yes, I do believe I broke that rule.”

Chloe turned and walked back to the nearby railing, leaning against it with crossed arms. She had to admit, the Doctor knew how to diffuse a situation rather well. It looked like Dean and Sam weren't going to be doing anything to provoke her anymore, and she herself was no longer in the mood for yelling. She remembered the original reason behind why they all were in the room. Well, all of them except Clara that was.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, Chloe?”

“Where were you originally heading for? You said earlier that your trip had been cut short.”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded. “I was heading for a planet called Sarahana. It's a bit like Earth, but mainly made up of small islands and shallow seas. The locals there are quite intelligent.”

She nodded, putting a hand to her chin.

“What are you thinking?” the Doctor asked.

“I need to go to New York.”

Sam frowned. “New York? Why New York?”

“And which one?” the Doctor added.

“The nowadays New York City, in New York. And it's just a hunch. I heard about something weird going on in New York a few days ago.”

“What kind of weird?” Dean asked.

“Er....” She glanced at him. “Not your kind of weird. Nothing paranormal at least.”

“What was it?” the Doctor asked.

She looked at the Winchesters carefully, and then at the Doctor. “... _They_... are at it again.... With Centipede.”

He blinked. “Again?”

Chloe nodded, glancing at the Winchesters. They looked confused. Like they were supposed to be. She turned her focus away from them.

“What are you talking about?” Dean demanded. “Who is at what with who?”

Chloe waved his questions away. “You wouldn't understand as of right now. And either way it's a delicate matter.”

He scowled. “I think you're underestimating us-”

“I know _exactly_ whoyou are, Winchester.” She threw a burning gaze at him. “I know what you _have_ done and what you _will_ do. I _know_ what you are capable of. If anything, I am _over_ estimating you two. And like I said, the matter is bad enough as it is. We don't need two men who think they can do whatever the hell they feel like, barging in to 'save the day.'”

He glared right back at her. “Sammy and I, we saved your sorry ass time and time again-”

“You also killed my mother!”

There was silence. Chloe paled and put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. Dean and Sam stared at her. What was she talking about? The Doctor glanced back and forth between the group as if a time bomb had been strapped to one of their backs and he was trying to figure out who it was just based off of look. Slowly, ever so slowly, Chloe began shaking. She knew that she couldn't just run away as she had before. The way she always did to make sure she didn't blow a fuse or started bawling in the middle of nowhere. She took a deep breath, passing a hand over her face.

“...What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

Chloe peeked at him through her fingers. Her glasses were smudged from her hand touching them. Great. She looked away from him, taking her glasses off to polish the lenses. She didn't want to talk about _that._ She didn't want anyone to know about _her_ _past._ Or _the past._ Or _any past._ She just wanted to live as if yesterday never happened and tomorrow was today. She cringed at the thought. Technically, she was. She couldn't remember.... Chloe pushed the thought away in favor of the previous subject.

“In the year two thousand twenty six,” she began quietly, “people _really_ started taking note of who you two were, and what you did. People like you, obviously, who knew of the supernatural. They continued making your story into books. People read them. _Normal_ people. Eventually it became famous. People became obsessed with how you two were hunters. They formed a group dedicated to hunting down _anything_ supernatural.” She took a deep breath and returned her glasses to the bridge of her nose, her shoulders sagging as she looked back up at them. “They called themselves Hunters, like you two do. And my mother, she had a gift. She was called a Diviner. She had the ability to recall bits and pieces of the future, and sometimes she could see into the past.” She sighed, shaking her head. “But people in my time feared Diviners, so...”

Chloe felt a lump form in her throat and knew that she couldn't finish the story. And not only because she wouldn't be able to talk. She could barely even remember her parents' faces. The Doctor jumped right in for her.

“They were tasked with rounding up and killing every single Diviner known to man,” he said regretfully. “Every. Single. Diviner. Which included Chloe's mum. Her family went into hiding. In the end, Chloe's mother died, her father was imprisoned for over fourteen years by a mass murderer, and she was orphaned.“

Dean stared. So _that_ was why Chloe had such a short fuse around them? She blamed _them_ for her mother's death! What a load of bullshit! Just because they were hunters didn't mean they wanted _everything_ supernatural to be killed. Just the harmful ones.

Like vampires.

Or witches.

Or vamp-witches.

Like Chloe.

As if sensing his thoughts, Chloe looked up at him. Dean was expecting a glare or a curse or a “What now? Still gonna kill me?” What he wasn't expecting was a held out hand and an expression of carefully constructed calm on her face. He glanced at her suspiciously.

“What?”

She swallowed harshly, eyes lowering for just a moment before flickering back up to his. “I'm a Diviner too. Just like my mother. I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?” he repeated.

“Diviners can sometimes bring people into a vision of the past,” the Doctor said quickly. “The only thing, though, is that it can be incredibly painful for the Diviner performing the act. The amount of stress involved in simply showing people the past by itself is monumental compared to a human mind, not to mention having to accommodate for two separate consciences, actions, and words-”

“Doctor.” Chloe gave him a stern look. “I'll be fine. It's not like I'll die or anything.”

He frowned. She really shouldn't take her life – or was it more of an _afterlife?_ – for granted. Her face softened at his look.

“Sorry. I know how you are about my... condition. But you were right. They're going to find out either way. And I'm sick and tired of running away from my problems.”

“Find out _what?_ ” Sam wondered.

“The future.” Chloe turned. “Otherwise known as my present.”

“Why would you show us that?” Dean said. “And why do you want to show _me?_ Don't you hate me? And isn't there some kind of rule against telling others about the future?”

For a moment she stared at him with her deep green eyes, hand still hovering between them. Then she turned her eyes away. “There are rules governing the telling of others of _their own_ future. But not of _the_ future, and not of _legacies_. That was a common misconception in the late twenty-sixth century. And I don't hate you; I hate what you _do_. You frustrate me. As for why I would show _you?_ ” Chloe touched an emerald necklace that was around her neck. “'He who hates with thy whole heart shall be the first to forgive thy enemy.' It's a bit of advice I took from a close friend of mine.”

“So.... What?” He frowned, tossing his hands a bit. “You expect me to forgive you? Just because I know some of the future?”

She turned back to give him a glare. “No. I expect us to take our heads out of our asses at some point in our life so we can actually get somewhere in a conversation without continuously arguing about nothing.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. He knew the girl had a bad temper and a tendency to show a bit of cheek to anyone who annoyed her. But barely anyone talked to him like that if they knew him. Unless his brother counted. But Sam was a different story. Chloe glared at him as he thought over what she had said. He had to give her credit; it took some serious guts to curse in his direction. Or in front of the Doctor, who typically tried to get him to curse less.

Chloe looked away from him yet again. “Honestly, I'm not up to fighting on a daily basis. I used to do that a lot when I was younger. Let's just say the memories aren't the best.”

For a moment, he didn't respond. He noticed his brother and the Doctor staring at him. Most likely they were expecting him to give a friendly response. He huffed mentally. He didn't want to agree to anything the epitome of the supernatural offered. But he was curious as well. He knew some entities that they hunted were completely evil, while others were more or less good. Some were borderline. The thing he was always confused about was why they were like that.

Chloe looked up as Dean moved toward her, glancing at his raised hand. He nodded to her.

“Fine. I'll let you have your way this time. But any funny business and I'll pour dead man's blood in your next drink.”

She gave him a look that could only be described as, _Oh really?_ “Go ahead and try, you bloody git.”

Dean felt his lips twitch ever so slightly as she made eye contact with him and reached out to grab his hand. Almost instantly, however, his body went rigid, a feeling of electricity coursing through his body. He saw a blank look on Chloe's face before his vision blurred so badly the colors around him swirled together in one mess of a color. He tried pulling his hand away from Chloe's, but he felt like he was moving through syrup. It was no use. Within seconds, both he and Chloe collapsed to the floor of the TARDIS, their surroundings disappearing completely.

. . . . . .

Dean blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. He looked around, seeing what seemed to be a futuristic city with cars flying around spire-like glass skyscrapers and cylindrical mirrored structures. What looked like a giant war ship was flying above the civilian traffic. It was thin and rounded in the front, with a glossy black coating. It was moving surprisingly quickly for how ginormous it was.

“The _Osiris Sanctuary._ ” Dean jumped at Chloe's voice. “Peace treaties sometimes were made on that ship.”

He turned around to look at the vampire. “Where are we? Last thing I knew we were in the Doctor's TARDIS.”

“I thought I already explained that. I'm a Diviner. I can see into the past and into the future, and sometimes bringing other people with me.”

“So this is...?”

“A vision of the future. The year is, er, just about 2067. Follow me.”

She started walking off down a street. As he watched, a pedestrian passed through Chloe as if he were a ghost. Chloe didn't seem to mind. He walked over to her, trying to walk around the people, but failing miserably. He shivered as a few people passed through him. Piercing cold traveled through his body and he wondered why Chloe was acting so nonchalant. Then he remembered that she was vampire and left it at that.

“What exactly are you trying to show me?” he asked.

“How it started.”

“How what started? The hunt for Diviners?”

She nodded curtly. “Right around the corner is a typical hangout for wizards and witches and that kind.”

“I thought most wizards and witches can't stand next to each other without blasting each other with pagan spells.”

Chloe stopped in front of a freshly lacquered door, turning to give him a halfhearted death glare. “First of all, there are very few witches and wizards who actually practice _pagan spells._ Secondly there are plenty of wizards and witches who spend quite a lot of time with each other and have perfectly regular lives. Thirdly, I can easily stop showing you this and leave you just as curious as you were earlier.”

He put his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Just trying to clear something up.”

She turned around with a shake of her head and walked into the building. Dean followed her in. What he saw seemed to be a regular, everyday pub. The only difference was that the place was packed with a bunch of people wearing long flowing capes and pointy, stereotypical wizards' caps. A few were brandishing long stick-like somethings.

“Yes, those are wands.”

Dean brought his attention back to Chloe. She seemed a bit more at ease. At the very least, a gentle grin was on her face. Which was much more than the usual flat expression or glare he had seen plastered on her face for a whole entire day.

“So this is a wizard hangout? A bar?”

“Even wizards and witches drink brandy,” she returned. “And plus, it isn't any regular pub.”

“Let me guess. That isn't just because there are wizards in here?”

She shakes her head. “The Wizarding World holds many secrets all over the globe. Some are right in front of your face. You'd be surprised what some people don't see.”

Dean frowned. That sounded like a painfully obvious insult. He just wasn't sure if he should be insulted or agree with her; the media always managed to blame everything supernatural on something ordinary.

Chloe pointed to a man who had just rushed into the bar. “Watch him. He's a newsman for the _Daily Prophet._ ”

Dean's eyes followed the way she was pointing. He saw a scrawny, middle aged man clutching various papers to his chest. He held what seemed to be a newspaper with colored, moving pictures on the front page. He nervously ran a hand over his balding head, pushing toward the bartender. He spoke hurriedly, and looked as if he was speaking of words told to him by the devil himself.

“Word has come to the newspaper about the Minister's decision,” the man said.

The bartender immediately turned away from the glass of whiskey that he had been about to grab. “What did he say?”

The newsman looked around, seeing how a few people who were nearby had looked over to listen into the conversation. He shrugged them off; they were bound to find out anyways.

“He's decided that, and I don't think you're going to like this, but....” He swallowed, looking away. “He says that all Diviners need to become registered. And questioned. By the Ministry.”

“Questioned?” The bartender looked devastated. “But... Martha's only ten. She could never handle being questioned by the Ministry! She can barely talk to our neighbors.”

“I'm sorry, George. Real sorry.”

He put his head on the bar for a moment and then straightened back up. “You've gotta know this isn't going to be the end. It's just gonna get worse. I can't let my daughter live in a world where people might threaten to burn her at the stake. It's not fair to her!”

The newsman put a hand on George's arm. “Don't worry, George. We'll pull an Evans.”

The man's eyes widened. “An Evans? But Martha's got a life here. My wife, she has a life here.”

“Think of what is better for your family.”

Dean managed to pull his eyes away and look at Chloe. He found her staring sadly at the distraught bartender. Her fingers were playing with the pendant that rested between her collarbone.

“They tried running away.” Her voice was a halfhearted whisper, a leaf blowing in the wind; barely seen, barely heard. “The Ministry searched for them, just like they did everyone who tried running. A hundred thirty eight Diviners were found trying to run away.”

Their surroundings were suddenly blotted out by ink-like blurs of color. The world around them turned into a dark, disorderly field of terrified civilians surrounded by a militia of men who were urging them to continue marching forward. Mothers clutched at their sons; fathers held their daughters close; older siblings whispered words of encouragement. Chloe watched as if everything was her fault.

“All of them were put before the courts of law for violating the Minister's words. Even the children. They were suspected of conspiring against the government. Someone fought back against the government officials that were holding them. In moments, things got violent, and....”

Chloe turned around, encouraging Dean to turn as well. As he turned, his surroundings changed once again. The plaza disappeared and was replaced with a large, open air amphitheater. Hundreds of people were milling around, still looking terrified. Dean caught a glimpse of what he thought was the bartender holding a little girl close to his chest, trying to calm her down. But in the next moment, the crowd was too thick to see any one person clearly.

Some disturbance made him look over to his left. He saw a hole form as a uniformed man fell to the ground. Another man loomed over him, shouting. Dean watched as another officer tried to pull him away, but the man lashed out, pushing the man away and pulling a wand out of his pocket. Almost instantly, the officer behind him pulled out a wand. What sounded like a gun went off. The civilians panicked. Some pulled out wands. Officers pulled out pistols. Sparks were sent flying. Bullets whizzed through the air. Everywhere around them, people were falling over dead.

Dean knew that there was no way he could help, but he instinctively reached for his gun anyways.

“It wouldn't help, Dean.” Chloe held up his gun. “Even if I wasn't smart enough to take this from you, it wouldn't work in a vision.”

He glared at her for a moment. “First off: not cool; no one touches my guns. Second: what the _hell_ does a massacre have to do with anything?”

“This isn't just any massacre. It was the first of many massacres.” Chloe walked a bit away, looking the gun over as if seeing it for the first time. “People were scared at first, for themselves and others. But they slowly grew to be apathetic toward everything that happened. Everyone was expecting things like this to occur on a daily basis.”

Dean blinked at her. “Massacres? On a daily basis?”

She continued talking as if she hadn't heard him, though she did hand the gun back to him. “A group was formed in the hopes of returning what they deemed the 'Winchester legacy' to these troubled times. The group's purpose was to hunt down and exterminate, by any means necessary, the threat posed against society. Ordinary people learned about the supernatural. _Ordinary people._ People who otherwise would have been unburdened by the knowledge that the unusual occurrences in their lives actually weren't unusual. Obviously, the public panicked. The wizards involved cast a spell to make people forget about everything that had happened. At least, most people.

“The wizards allowed those who already were hunters of the supernatural to know everything. They worked out a deal in which both sides would work to fight off the 'threat'. Most of them were afraid that the Diviners would take their knowledge of the future and use it against humanity. Some thought that along with their abilities came additional powers, powers that no living being should ever be allowed to hold. Together, they decided on a traditional name: the Hunters. A term overused so much they could use it in casual conversation and not be discovered. The Hunters chased countless Diviners out of their homes and away from their family. Including my family.”

The scene changed again. Dean found himself looking at the inside of a small house. From a glance, it seemed rather ordinary: there was the kitchen, with a fridge and a countertop and a microwave; there was a living room, with a sofa and a TV; and then there was the room that they were in, the bedroom. He saw a bed for two and a pair of cribs. That was just about where the normality ended, though. Dean spotted another newspaper with moving pictures and a broom in a fancy case with worn out words written across the handle of it. Moving photographs were hung along the walls and placed on desks. Various potions were lined along a shelf nailed into the wall.

He saw Chloe staring at the glass bottles with a sad look on her face. The look only deepened when she saw a young woman with bright green eyes and flaming red hair. In her arms she was holding a young baby with brilliant, cheerful green eyes. The baby cooed and reached out toward her mother's face. The woman chuckled and lightly tickled the girl's stomach.

“Now then, Chloe. It's time for you to go to bed.”

Dean glanced at the mother and the girl standing next to him. “Is that...?”

Chloe nodded. “My mum. I was barely even two when she was killed.”

For a moment, he watched as Chloe's mother started to sing while rocking back and forth gently. “My mom used to do that. Sing to me.”

Chloe glanced at him, but said nothing. It was unnecessary to tell him about what the song really was, right? So it didn't matter if he knew all the details about her life with her mother. He didn't have to know about her twin, or how her mother had known everything that was going to happen, or even that she had thought her father was dead for twelve years before finding out he was still alive. She exhaled. She really had to stop thinking like that.

“Joshua,” Chloe's mother whispered the name as she set the toddler down in a crib. A man with curly reddish-brown hair tiptoed into the room. “She's finally asleep.”

The man grinned, slipping an arm around the mother. “Never would have seen that coming. She seems to hate sleeping.”

She chuckled. “Yes, well, she's very much like you in that respect.”

A sudden, loud bang reverberated throughout the house. The couple turned around, glancing at each other. This was what they had been fearing. They pulled out wands, gripping them tightly. The bang came again. Someone was trying to break down the door. They weren't going to let whoever it was tear them apart. It was a simple fact. They wouldn't let it happen.

Chloe sank to her knees at the next bang. Her ears were ringing. They had been for a while, but it was getting worse. She couldn't concentrate. Which was bad. She wasn't about to let someone else get stuck in her visions. She coughed harshly. She blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the ground between her hands. She was failing.

At the sound of someone falling over, Dean looked over at Chloe. Sure enough, she was curling on the ground and coughing as if her life depended on it. Their surroundings seemed to slow down tremendously and lose all of its color. He crouched next to her and tried to get her to look him in the eyes. She seemed to be having trouble focusing on him. And breathing. She wasn't breathing. He cursed under his breath, shaking her in an attempt to get her to snap out of it.

The shaking merely caused Chloe's surroundings to go even blurrier. She managed to put her arms on Dean's forearms, trying to get him to stop shaking her. After a moment, he stop. Chloe took a ragged breath and looked at him. Was the room spinning? Or was she spinning?....

Chloe shook herself. “You... have to wake up,” she rasped.

He frowned. “What?”

“Wake up!” she shouted.

Dean just frowned more. “What are you talking about?”

“Your body is asleep, but your mind isn't.” A wince passed over her face as a shuddered racked her body. With what seemed like the effort of lifting a ton of bricks, she raised her head to look him in the eyes once more. “You need to _wake up!_ ”

“Why? What's happening?”

“No – time – for questions.” She suddenly slapped him across the face. “Wake up!”

Dean blinked as he stared over his right shoulder. Did she just... slap him? He had no time to process the thought completely as Chloe shook his grip off of her and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, slapping him again and shaking him harshly. One of her hands gripped the side of his face as she continued to shout, obviously distressed.

_“Wake up! Wake up! Wa-”_

Dean suddenly gasped as he sat up, breathing harshly. He looked around quickly. He seemed to be in some medical bay of the Doctor's – heh, medical bay and a Doctor – but he had no recollection of being brought there. He shook his head. Obviously he wouldn't have any recollection; he had been stuck in Chloe's head or something. A hand touched his shoulder and he reacted instantly, reaching for his knife only to find it not where it had been. He looked at who it was who had grabbed him.

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said. “It's me.”

He relaxed. “What happened?”

“When Chloe grabbed your hand, you both passed out. I thought she did something to you, but the Doctor said it was normal. What did-”

Sam was cut short by the sound of someone coughing. The two brothers looked over to see Chloe starting to sit up. She didn't even get halfway up before she fell back down and coughed harder. She made a gurgling sound, trying to sit up, but with tremendous difficulty. Sam moved over to her and carefully rolled her onto her side. The two of them saw black spotting her pale cheeks.

“Is that-?”

The Doctor suddenly came flying into the room. “Yes, that is blood.” He moved to Chloe's side, fiddling with something near her bed. “Don't worry though. She'll be alright.”

True to his words, it was barely even two minutes later when Chloe sat up and wiped the blood off her face. “That... was close.”

“I'm telling you,” the Doctor said sternly, “that you _really_ should not do that all too much.”

“Petrik said that it would be gone within a year-”

“But it can still harm other people.” He sat down in a chair next to her bed, still looking at her. “I'm glad you got Dean out of there in time, but you should be more careful.”

“More careful of what?” Dean stood up from his bed. “What are you two talking about? And who's Petrik?”

“Petrik is just a friend of mine,” Chloe told him. “And, to be honest, I don't know what would happen if I were to, er, shut down while someone else is in a vision with me.”

“So you had no idea what was going to happen?” Dean glowered at her. “You had no idea if I was going to die or not?”

“It was highly improbable-”

“Improbable my ass!”

“Dean-!”

“Shut it, Sammy! It wasn't your life that was on the line-”

“Yeah! It was yours!” Sam gave him a hard stare. “It was your life, again. And you know how it feels to know that your brother is in peril, so don't give me a lecture. But she probably _had_ to show you that or something.”

Chloe shifted a bit. “Sam, he has a right to be angry....”

“Yes, but the Doctor told me about exactly what happens when you have a vision. It's painful. And for all you know, having one could be the last thing you do. So obviously you had something important to tell him – or show him.”

“...It's very doubtful that I would be killed, though.” She looked away. “Seeing how I'm a vampire, it's kind of hard to kill me.”

“Unless you're beheaded,” Dean said nonchalantly. “Or fed dead man's blood.”

Chloe clenched her fists. The Doctor looked at him disapprovingly. Both said nothing for a while. Then Chloe swung her legs around to face Dean, eyes narrowed as she leaned forward a bit.

“How much, _exactly,_ do you know and understand about vampires?”

Dean narrowed his eyes as well. “They feed off of human blood. They live forever, unless killed. They stay together in nests, so they can feed off of innocents. They're stronger, faster, have more stamina and agility than regular humans. Dead man's blood kills them and they reproduce by forcing blood down other peoples' throats. Anything else?”

A small smirk crossed her face. “You don't know about fire? Or electricity? Or where we live? How about our history? Do you know about Drakov? That would be interesting. Ever tangoed with him? No. You don't have the scars for it-”

Dean nearly growled. “What are you trying to say?”

“If what you know was part of a book,” she said, “you've barely even gone through the first chapter.”

“And you're saying this through experience?”

“I'm saying it because it's true. You may _think_ that you've seen everything, but you haven't. And that might come back to haunt you. And by might, I mean-”

The Doctor stood up and put his hands in the air. “Alright, alright. That's enough competition. I won't have another fight in the TARDIS; she doesn't enjoy seeing people fight, and she definitely doesn't like the atmosphere it creates. I don't want her getting riled up either. Can't we all just pretend we're normal, civilized people for once?”

For a moment, both parties stared at him. Was he really serious? “Normal” wasn't a word in either of their vocabularies. Ordinary, average, run-of-the-mill. None of those applied to them either. But say something like “unorthodox” or “bizarre”? Those were words that they could all relate with. Chloe glanced at Dean at almost the same time he turned toward her. A look of recognition passed between them; it was quite possible the two of them understood the fact that either of them knew the Doctor was just trying to show them a bit of his logic. Which honestly at times was just a jumble of mixed up thoughts thrown out of his mouth in one long sentence. But it was logic all the same, and both of them could respect that.

Dean exhaled, leaning back slightly. “Fine. If that's what you think is best.”

Sam blinked, looking surprised. He hadn't seen Dean act like this since.... Well, never. Maybe when they were kids, _maybe._ But he could barely remember. He shook his head. The Doctor was a very strange man. That's all he needed to know.

Chloe tilted her head slightly. “Clara's back. She got lunch.”

Dean was about to ask her how she knew she had lunch, when Clara walked into the room with take out bags in her hands. She started handing things out to everyone – even Chloe. Dean frowned. Vamps couldn't eat. Could they? He glanced at Sam, seeing a nearly identical look on his brother's face.

“I know what you two are thinking.” Chloe didn't even look up from the styrofoam container in her lap. “Vampires are creatures of the undead; they can't eat. Right, but wrong. We are undead, but we can still eat. I mean, we can use our jaws. And we ate things when we were... alive. To be quite frank, vampires miss the taste of regular food just as much as a grown man misses his mother's apple pie.”

Dean stopped mid-bite, glancing at Chloe. She didn't seem to look like she was purposefully striking one of his nerves, so he let the comment slide. He mumbled a quick reply and began eating his burger. Clara glanced around as the room fell into a deep silence.

“Did another thing happen while I was out?” she asked, looking directly at the Doctor.

He shrugged, dipping a fish stick into a bowl of custard. “Nothing all too important. Mr. Vampire Hunter argued a bit more with Chloe, but otherwise, nothing happened.”

She nodded, frowning. She glanced at Chloe. “So what did you show him?”

The vampire looked up at her for a moment. “Just... the first decree against Diviners and the riot that followed.” She fidgeted a bit, jerkily looking away. “And... a bit about my parents.”

The Doctor lifted his head, but before he could say anything, Chloe suddenly wasn't there. The wind from her running made Clara's hair whip around and several papers flutter from their hiding places. Clara sighed and pulled her hair back into place.

“Well, she's getting more emotional by the second,” she mumbled.

The Doctor nodded. “She's in a rough patch.”

Clara glanced at him. “Chloe? In a rough patch?”

The Doctor said nothing.

“That girl has been through wars. She's been kidnapped over and over and had the world set against her – twice. She walked into a bloody maze filled with psychopaths when she was _eleven_. What would qualify as a rough patch for her?”

Sam blinked. “She – wait, what?”

The Doctor leaned back. “When she was eleven, a sorceress targeted her friends in order to get to her. She was part of a prophecy, you see, and the sorceress didn't like what Chloe was said to do, so she tried killing her. Multiple times. When she was eleven, she was brought to a wizarding school and made a few friends. Later that year, they were kidnapped. All that was left was a riddle, which she decrypted as a ransom note. She was to give herself over to the sorceress and her friends would go free. She decided to try it out.”

“That's the stupidest thing someone can do when it comes to ransoms,” Dean muttered.

“She _knew_ what she was doing, Dean.” Clara crossed her arms over her chest. “She went into that maze knowing that she was going to be directly attack by the sorceress. She managed to bait her into following her further into the maze, lost her, _and_ circled back to her friends, getting them _all_ out of there, unharmed.”

“And she was eleven?” Sam questioned.

The Doctor nodded. “She was resourceful even then, and could tell how someone would act based off how they write. From there, she made deductions about what to do when she walked into the maze. She still does that. Probably one of the reasons she's a bit unsettled by you two.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She's met you before.” Dean began talking, but the Doctor just continued. “Time travel does that a lot. People meet out of order. But she said she couldn't read you two. She can read most everyone, but you two were a mystery. She understood your basic personalities, but nothing else. Your motives, for one. Your actions, for another. She's not used to being unable to read people.”

“And that's why she runs off like that?” Sam asked.

“It doesn't help that you're both Hunters.” Clara stood up. “I'll go find her. I think I know where she's hiding this time round.”

Dean watched Clara walk off. “So.... What's so terrible about the girl's parents that she won't say a peep about 'em?”

“How much do you know about them?” the Doctor returned.

“Her mom was killed by some Hunters, died when she was two. The mother used to sing her to bed. The father's name was Joshua, and you told us something about him being imprisoned for a while. And they were all witches.”

The Doctor sighed. “She was right. You really won't understand.”

Sam straightened a bit. “Well, maybe we _would_ understand if you told us more about whatever has been going on with her.”

He stared at Sam for a moment. Of course, Sam stared right back.

“You shouldn't argue with a Time Lord.” He exhaled and stood up. “But... you're right. Partially. You still wont understand some of it.”

“It would still be nice if we could know some of her past,” Sam said.

“True, again.” He nodded slightly. “Fine. Fair opposition. But you must promise to remember what I tell you, because _I_ will not repeat myself and _Chloe_ will not, in a million years, tell you any of this even once. You hear me?”

“Yes, Doctor.” They nodded.

“Yes, well.” He thought for a moment. “Where to begin, where to begin.... Well, Chloe's parents were a witch and a wizard. Her mother was a Diviner and as such they were hunted. The only thing is that Chloe's mother knew she was going to die. She knew she was going to die in that house by the hands of an insane witch. Chloe found this out when she was about sixteen years old. But!” He paused for a moment, looking out of one of the windows to keep from looking at the Winchesters. “But when she was fifteen, she was given her ring.”

“Yeah, that Ring of Chrome or whatever,” Dean said. “It's a time teleporty thing, right?”

The Doctor exhaled. “It's called the Chronomatic ring. It can teleport the wearer and whoever is touching the wearer to a new time and place.”

“Uh, kinda like a miniature TARDIS?” Sam suggested.

“Yes, but without the bigger on the inside and the-”

“We get it,” Dean said impatiently. “What happened when Chloe got the ring?”

“Patience is a virtue, Dean Winchester.” The Doctor glared at him for a moment. Then looked away. “For a while everything was fine for Chloe. But it was only a few months later when the authorities, the Hunters, found out she was a Diviner. Two of her friends, Elijah and Zachary, helped her escape. Without any real meaning, she slipped on the ring while Eli and Zach were trying to keep her from falling over. They were pulled back in time. Chloe ended up creating the very prophecy that caused her life and many others' to be riddled with misfortune. She also... tried to save her parents.”

The two stared.

“She... tried to save them?” Sam said.

“She didn't care if the future changed dramatically or not, she just wanted to save her family.” The Doctor looked at his feet. “Unwittingly, however, she caused her mother's death and her father's imprisonment, nearly getting herself killed in the process. Her mother... died in her arms. With her dying breath, she told her that she was brave and that she wished her daughter were to be like her.”

There was silence. Sam and Dean glanced at each other. Both of them had rather similar looks on their faces. They had always put family on the frontline of their priority list. They had even been brought back in time and talked to their parents before. The Winchesters knew how much it could hurt to simply talk to them after them being dead for so long. One could only imagine what they'd feel like if they had caused their parents' death and incarceration.

“Chloe doesn't enjoy remembering that. Nor does she like other people knowing what she knows.” The Doctor sighed. “Just give her one of your free passes. She's seen enough terror to last centuries.”

Dean exhaled. “Fine. But if she gives us _any_ reason to think she's double crossing us....”

 _She won't_ , the Doctor nearly said. But that was how Winchesters worked. Cautiously.

“Doctor!”

The three of them immediately stood up. The Doctor frowned. Clara's voice barely ever shook. The group hurried toward the source of the shouting.

“Clara? What's wrong?”

“It's Chloe! She's going all prophet again!”

They rounded a few corners and found Chloe staring at Clara with a dull expression. The Doctor ran up to Clara and removed her hands from Chloe's shoulders.

“It's alright. Just let her get it out of her system.”

Sam glanced at Clara. “Did you say prophet?”

“Chloe can also make prophecies. It's one of the reasons Diviners were hunted down.” The Doctor waved his hand as if it were no problem. “Just keep quiet.” He knelt to look into Chloe's eyes. “Chloe?”

She looked at him with just a hint of recognition in her eyes. “Yes?”

“What do you need to tell us?” he asked.

Chloe straightened. Her emerald eyes glowed and her voice drifted to a strange monotone. “The joining of sides began before, but continues on to find the four.... The four who left, but never knew; all chasing after one last clue.... After fire and before the storm, comes the few who thought it norm.... The poison coating that they serve, paired with wrath millions observe.... Freedom brought with a price for some..... The dawning of a new age made to come.”

The glow in her eyes faded and her legs gave way under her. The Doctor just barely caught her before she could hit the ground. Sam and Dean stared. Clara's eyes were wide.

“...Anyone up for an adventure?”

 


	5. A Conflict of Interests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this is a bit choppy at times. Also, dramatic characters are dramatic. Thanks to everyone for reading this!

**KALIBER MIDDLE SCHOOL,**

**BALTIMORE, MARYLAND**

“Sometimes I don't understand you. I thought that you thought school was _boring!_ Why do you like it now?”

Mathasin spared a glance at his teammate as they put their uniforms away. “School teaches you things, Brines.”

The fifteen year old laughed quietly at that. “School teaches you how to _not_ see the real world. You should know that very well, Matt.”

He smirked. “If you think that, then you really must be the fool I first took you as.”

“I am not the fool,” he replied. “And I've told you countless times: it's James, not Brines.”

Mathasin rolled his eyes. “I am _not_ going to call you Kirk.”

“Then call me James if you don't want to call me Kirk.”

He shrugged, looking smug. “I'll think about it.”

James shook his head. He knew how Mathasin could be. Occasionally he would get in the mood for teasing the freshmen in their school. Or his best friends. But there was something strange about him today. All day he had been strangely ecstatic. Even now, he was walking with a slight bounce to his step, as if expecting something amazing to happen. Or maybe that something had already happened, and he was letting everyone else figure out what it was. Or maybe he was using reverse psychology just to get people to wonder what was going on when in reality there was nothing to look for.

Hell, that was one of the things Mathasin did for a living. Confuse people.

Still, Mathasin's carefree attitude was rather strange. He wasn't the type to just go flaunting about with a winning smile on his face or swagger out of the school gym after a hard day's work. It would be more likely that he'd be complaining about a sore arm or back and walking with a slight limp from all the times he swung a bat and ran around the bases during baseball practice. James shook his head and walked beside him. Maybe his limping was all fake?

“I'm guessing you're gonna be at after school practice?” he said.

“Definitely. Not a chance I'd miss a single practice.” Mathasin grinned.

James frowned a bit. “What's up with you? You almost always want to be out _there_ instead of at practice _here_.”

“Today is different.”

“Care to explain?”

“I will. At practice.”

James rolled his eyes again. He wasn't going to push him if all he had to do was wait until the period was over. Which wasn't all too long of a wait. They both had to go and put their school stuff away, and that would take up most of the remaining time. James glanced at Mathasin again.

“Have you added another tattoo to your face?”

Mathasin turned to look at him. On the left side of his face were two groups of markings. One group was centered along the far left side of his forehead and led across his temple. The other patch was scattered from under his eye to his chin. All of them were curly lines, except for one which was shaped like a curvy square with a long wisp that nearly connected to another marking. From what James remembered, the newest tattoo would be the one closest to his eye, which was two lines arcing toward each other, surrounding two circles and an oval.

“They're not tattoos, they're markings,” Mathasin told him.

James waved his hand dismissively as they reached their lockers. Within five minutes the halls were filled with kids. The two sophomores hurried down the hall to a nearby corner of the school, heading into a medium sized room for practice. Several other people were already taking seats at desks with various books and folders stacked on them. James and Mathasin took seats on the right side of the room. The room was quickly filled with chatter. Another ten minutes later, and the teacher still wasn't there. Mathasin leaned back in his chair, joining in on a conversation about recent studies with those behind him. A few people took note of his markings, but he just waved them off. He was used to people wondering about how he got them and where from and why, but he wasn't exactly the kind of person to tell everyone his secrets. Plus it was fun to make the Freshies think he was waist deep in secrets if he couldn't tell anyone about something as simple as his markings.

The door opened and everyone shushed, expecting to see the teacher walk in. Mathasin looked over at the door. His eyes widened. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not possible. His mind was playing tricks on him. That _had_ to be what was going on. Those silver eyes and long black hair _didn't_ just walk into this classroom after three years of being... _somewhere._

But while he could at least attempt to stop himself from thinking taboo thoughts, he couldn't keep his lips from forming the one name he could never forget.

“Ellie?”

A few people glanced over at Mathasin's unusually soft voice. He barely noticed, staring straight at the girl standing in front of the door. She had changed a lot, but she still wore the same black trench coat and combat boots. While there was the fact that she had various rips and tears in the fabric of her clothes, Mathasin was more concerned about the expression on her face. He remembered her as the smiling, laughing type, if not a bit shy as well. But from the looks of her, she hadn't smiled in ages.

Ellie glanced at him. “Mathasin.”

She then proceeded to take a seat as far away from him as possible.

People started chatting again, though the progress to where the noise had once been was somewhat stunted. Mathasin, who had apparently risen up from where he had been sitting, sank back into his chair. James glanced between him and Ellie. It was quite easy to say that Mathasin's unusual ecstatic mood had been squashed by the mere presence of this girl.

James swallowed roughly. “Isn't that...?”

“Yes,” Mathasin replied shallowly.

“And she...?”

“Yes.”

“But-!”

“No.” Mathasin put a hand up. “Look. I don't want to talk about it.”

James quieted down, glancing back at Ellie. He had just finished moving to his new house when he had first met the girl. She was also new to the area, having moved into the house across the street only a few months prior. They had both been about nine or ten, and she had been rather shy. Her father had been the one to bring her over and introduce them. The girl's full name: Elizabeth Evelyn Nightinghawk.

Since they met, they had been friends. He later met Mathasin at school, who – Mathasin being Mathasin – continuously tried to get Elizabeth – or Ellie, as he always called her – to open up and be less shy. By the time they were eleven, James could tell that Mathasin and Elizabeth were into each other. Why else would Mathasin choose to call everyone except her by last name, and she be more energetic and loud near only him?

And then there was her sudden disappearance at the age of thirteen.

Mathasin had been a mess, and even though he had gotten better, he had actually just gotten worse. He had obsessed over finding Ellie since it came out that she had actually been kidnapped by the “father” James had met all those years back. Not only that, but the man who had kidnapped her had murdered her whole entire family, except for Ellie and her mother.

Now, three years after she had mysteriously vanished off the face of the planet, she had come back – and completely dissed the only people she had actually been able to comfortably call her friends. That they knew of, of course. It was completely possible she had made more friends during her three years of solitude.

James turned back to face the front as the door to the room opened up again. All talking ceased, everyone turning to their teacher with respect in their eyes. The man looked like every other man who worked at the school: a dark dress shirt with a striped tie and grey khaki pants. His whole demeanor – clean-shaven face, dancing brown eyes, positive outlooks - gave out the helpful teacher vibe most people could never make. Mr. Gable walked to his desk and picked up one of the books littering the surface.

“I know quite a lot of you have been waiting for this day to come in your training.” He turned to a white board and picked up an Expo marker, starting to write as everyone prepared to take notes. “You all have been working on more physical and intellectual aspects over the past few years, but now you are going to get actual information about the one man this is all about.” He turned back around, pointing at the name he had written on the board. “The Doctor.”

. . . . . .

Mr. Gable put the expo marker down and gave each of them a quick glance. Everyone in the classroom seemed rather excited. Well, everyone except the elusive new girl in the very back. She seemed almost bored, though somewhat interested. For a split second he wondered if she was an agent from UNIT, but put it in the back of his mind; they would have sent him an update had anything changed.

“The first thing we must go over is his race. Turn to page ninety-two.”

“Ninety-two? What about all the pages before that?”

“In my opinion, Lazlo, the book wasn't made properly. The writer put things about the Doctor _before_ any introduction into his race.”

Everyone in the class opened their book up and glanced at the page. There was a small section labeled “Time Lord Physiology” and under that a segment about customs.

“Of course, we don't know all too much about Time Lords other than what several government groups have managed to dig up over the years.” He started writing on the board again. “As you can see, Time Lords have two hearts. They also can, as the name suggests, travel through time. Most of you should know that by now, but just as a recap. And, new girl in the back of the room – black hair, trench coat – what does TARDIS stand for?”

Most of the class turned to look at Ellie. She didn't even turn from looking out the window as she answered.

“Time and Relative Dimension in Space.”

Mr. Gable stopped writing for the moment. He knew that tone of voice. Arrogance, coupled with intelligence. He turned, looking at her calculatingly. She seemed like an average, moody teen, but something about her screamed “vault of secrets”. And he needed that key. Desperately.

“Do you know much about the Doctor, Miss?” he wondered. He was thankful that he asked each of his students that very question the first time he met them. The other kids wouldn't know he was actually interrogating her.

“Sure I do. Just ask me questions and I'll answer you.”

Finally, she turned to look at him, spinning a pen in her hand as if out of habit. He noticed that her books were pushed away from her, as if she didn't even want to see them. Mr. Gable slowly walked toward her.

“His age?”

“Oldest age on record is twelve hundred years old.”

“How many regenerations?”

“Currently twelve.”

“And what is regeneration? Come on, this is still a lesson.”

“Regeneration is a biological function Time Lords have to, in lack of other words, renew themselves, often causing a physical and sometimes psychological change. It occurs whenever a Time Lord has been fatally wounded, either by disease, wound, old age, or fatigue.”

“Home planet?”

“Gallifrey.”

“Bowtie or fez?”

“Trick question. Both.”

Mr. Gable made it to her desk, looking her in the eyes. She just stared at him with those forlorn, desolate storm clouds. Her face was just as blank, unwilling to give out any information. But there was something... something familiar to that look. He was so close to putting his finger on it. If she would just let her guard down for one moment....

Her body tensed ever so slightly.

Mr. Gable pulled back. He knew who she was. He knew _exactly_ who she was. And who she was said to become. He walked back to the front of the room.

“Very good, Miss. All correct. And now, to continue the lesson.”

. . . . . .

**5:00 PM,**

**KALIBER MIDDLE SCHOOL,**

**BALTIMORE, MARYLAND**

“Class dismissed.”

Mathasin exhaled and stood up, making his way to the door along with James. He put his hands in his pockets before pulling them out once again and pinching the bridge of his nose.

James nudged him in the side. “You okay, Matt?”

“Mathasin,” he replied. “Call me Mathasin.”

“I don't know,” a quiet voice said behind them. “I like Matt as a nickname quite a bit.”

Mathasin stopped walking, slowly turning around. Ellie was standing behind him, a small grin on her face.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” she continued. “I feel like I might've embarrassed you.”

He blinked a bit. “Might've?”

“Okay, definitely.” She walked up to him. “But I still like Matt as a nickname. It fits you.”

He let a smile fall on his face. “And that's the Ellie we all know and love.”

“It's Nightinghawk. I go by Nightinghawk now.”

“Well, maybe we can compromise.” His grin turned into a playful smirk. “I'll let you call me Matt if I can call you Ellie.”

She chuckled. “Very well. I accept.”

James snapped back into reality. “What happened to you? Where did you go?”

Ellie gave him a thoughtful look, mouth opened as if ready to answer, but hesitating for reasons unknown to the two boys. “...A British man knocked on my bedroom window. He knew about Warren and my family.” She looked away. “He wanted to help and I let him.”

Mathasin blinked. “British? Why would there be a British-” His eyes widened. “The Doc-”

“Shh!” Ellie frowned at him, putting her hand to his mouth. “Don't say it out loud or else all of the government'll be after me. But yes. He came and saved me. He's a great man.” She gestured for them to start walking again. “He let me stay at his place for a little while. But eventually I had to go.”

“Where did you go after that?” Mathasin grinned a bit, his energy coming back to him.

She shrugged. “I was all over. Visited New York a few times. Saw the Grand Canyon, too. Also trained and tried to figure out where Warren was after he left Baltimore.”

“Grand Canyon?”

“New York?”

The two frowned. “Where'd you get the money?”

Ellie chuckled. “You two still share half a brain?”

They glanced at each other, nodding. “Yup.”

She grinned, feeling like she hadn't done so her whole entire life. “Yeah, well, I had my ways.”

James grinned, looking thoughtful as they made it past the school's doors. “So, why'd you come back? I mean, you could have come back earlier. Why now?”

“To be honest, when I left I kind of wanted to forget anything ever happened. Just start over, you know?” She looked down at her feet. “Then.... This idiot....” She exhaled. “He kept on trying to get me to talk about my past. He made me remember everything. I thought about this place and said to myself, what the heck. Why don't I check in on them? But....” She shifted, pulling her trench coat over her a bit more. “I, er, was a bit scared. I didn't know how you'd all react. And some people are still looking for me.”

Mathasin let his grin become more gentle as he put an arm around her waist. “Ah, don't worry. We don't think of you any differently.”

She tensed slightly at the touch, but not enough for either of them to notice. Though she smiled at what Mathasin said, she wasn't completely sure how she felt about him. It had been several years since she had even seen him, much less talked to him. He could have changed radically since the last time she had talked to-

She stopped walking, tilting her head slightly and closing her eyes. Mathasin and James stopped as well, frowning at her. Mathasin looked around, but saw nothing out of place. They were in the middle of the school's parking lot. Cars of all makes and models littered the black top. Kids from the class were walking along the sidewalks toward their cars and driving off. Other than that, there were a few security guards and teachers who were heading to their cars. Nothing unusual-

Except Ellie randomly darting off into the woods.

Mathasin was the first to react, running after her. “Ellie!”

James, of course, followed the two. “Hey! Wait up!”

Ellie crashed through the trees, pushing away branches that threatened to slap her in the face and vaulting over fallen trees and large branches. Mathasin, somewhat distracted by the way her trench coat flared out behind her as she ran, stumbled and immediately began falling behind. After a while, she slid to a stop behind a thick tree, motioning for the others to stop where they were and listen for anything.

Mathasin thought he could just barely hear the sound of flapping wings. But the rustling was definitely louder than a small bird, and unmistakably coming from at least four separate locations. He looked around, cursing their position. The trees had no leaves at this time of year, but the trunks were rather round and provided quite a bit of protection for anyone who was headed their way.

He heard a crunch of leaves and turned, only to stop when something metallic slid onto his shoulder. He heard the signature yelp of James being surprised and exhaled.

“Ellie? Tell me you knew this was going to happen?” he said in a slightly annoyed tone as he glared at the long knife that was pressed to his throat. He chanced a glance to his side and saw a redhead pointing a similar knife at James.

“It was a possibility.”

“Are you facing the other way?”

“There are two other angels on me.”

“Angels?”

“Exactly.”

Mathasin started to say something else, but was cut off by the knife pressing into his throat.

“You aren't supposed to be here, Nightinghawk.”

“You aren't supposed to be here either, Gaius.”

 _...How does she know an_ angel?

“Times change. Metatron's promised that.”

There was a moment's silence. The thickness in the air was almost tangible; Mathasin thought that if he reached into the right spot, he'd be able to grab it and find the reasoning behind the appearance of several angels.

Ellie, as always, was a few steps ahead of him. “You want something from one of them. What is it?”

The angel from before tilted his head, considering her. “You don't know? I must admit, I'm a bit... surprised. Your senses must be clouded.”

“Not clouded enough so that I can't see your wings.” The sound of some sort of string being pulled back rang through the incoming silence.

Light laughter rounded them all. “I don't think you want to do that, _Ellie._ ”

Mathasin struggled as he was turned around to face Ellie. All it got him was the knife being pressed further into his skin, but he never gave up without a fight. Though the sight of Nightinghawk aiming a bow away from them struck him as a bit odd. Where'd she get that bow? And seriously, where the hell did four angels come from!?

“Don't call me that,” she hissed. “And you wouldn't kill either of them. You don't know which is which.”

“How would you know? You can't tell a Nephilim apart from a mortal!”

“I knew as soon as I tried looking for it.”

“Then which one is it?”

“As if I'd tell you. They're nearly of equal power. It'd be the same gamble as picking between blood from the left and right side of a gorgon.”

There was silence. Mathasin blinked, having gotten lost three sentences in.

“You came here for one of them, not both of them. And you can't leave while I'm around, nor can you harm either of them. All you're left with is fighting me.”

“What? Four angels against one... _you?_ ” The angel spoke the word as if treason were being committed. “You'd be killed in an instant!”

“I'd beg to differ, Gaius. And since when have you been the one to set _fair_ terms.”

“Heh. Good argument. The offer still stands, you know; you can be one of Metatron's servants. Get into Heaven.”

Her face twitched. She tightened her bowstring. “I am a _Greek!_ Heaven is not my domain!”

_...What?_

Mathasin frowned, despite being used as a hostage. Ellie wasn't Greek. None of her family members, as far as he knew, were from Greece or descended from someone from Greece. So what was with the Greek heritage? And who was Metatron? And why did this guy offer to bring her to Heaven?

Why was she taking so much offense?

The angel Nightinghawk was talking to exhaled. “It's better than being sent to the Fields of Punishment for what you've done.”

_...Fields of what?_

Ellie bristled. “If I go there, I go there. You have no right to change that. And neither does some angel with a god-complex!”

The hair on the back of Mathasin's neck stood on end. What seemed like static charged the air between them as muscles tensed. He flinched-

Two identical screeches rang out through the forest as Nightinghawk twisted around and fired two arrows. The angels staggered away from their captives. The sound of metal hitting the ground preceded the twang of paired arrows meeting their mark. More screams.

“Move away from them!” Nightinghawk ordered, once again turning to Mathasin and James.

They did as she said.

Mathasin watched as a thin net of what looked like bronze erupted from the arrows and wrapped around each of the angels. They didn't move, seeming to be in quite some pain.

Nightinghawk walked to one of them, glaring daggers. “Which one?”

The angel chuckled. “Like I'd tell you.”

She prodded the arrow in his abdomen with her foot. “I beg to differ.”

He stifled a hiss of pain before it could escape. “I can't tell you-”

“Be reasonable, Niovin. Both of us know you have a very low pain tolerance. We both also know _why_ you believe Metatron is right. Who are you looking for? Who is the Nephilim?”

The angel swallowed harshly. “...James Brines.”

. . . . . .

Mathasin was sure at least half of his brain had been fried by the first mention of Nephilim. The thought of James Brines – his _best friend_ and the _worst_ catcher in all of baseball history – being a Nephilim definitely fried the other half.

His friend must have been having an even worse time accepting what the angel had said. He kept on stammering about how he couldn't be a Nephilim, that it wasn't possible. But when Ellie looked up at him he knew that the angel wasn't lying.

“But I'm not! I – I have parents-”

“ _Adoptive_ parents,” she said quietly. “It makes sense. Both of you are... powerful. It was hard to tell which of you is which, but.... Now I know for sure.”

“Wait, what?” Mathasin held a hand up. “Time out. We're powerful? Which is which? What are you talking about? You're making no sense.”

She shifted her feet slightly. “It's a long explanation-”

Nightinghawk cut herself off, drawing another arrow and aiming toward her left. A lanky boy emerged from between the trees, and immediately flung his hands up.

“Whoa! I'm on your side. No arrows needed.”

She didn't relax.

Mathasin put a hand on her arm. “He's telling the truth. He's a senior in training.”

“...Hm.” Slowly, she put her bow down by her side again.

“What happened?” the senior demanded. “We heard a few screams.”

“Angels attacked us,” Nightinghawk replied, waving dismissively at the would be attackers. “They won't be able to teleport or fly off with their wings tied up in those nets, but I still wouldn't recommend going anywhere close to them.”

The senior blinked. “Angels? _Here?_ Why?”

“They were looking for something.” Her expression turned grim. “I might have inadvertently led them here, so you can blame me for that. They have a tendency to hunt down my family.”

“Hunt down-!?” The kid blinked. “Are they properly bound? Will they hurt anyone?”

“Yes, and as long we don't let them out _they_ won't hurt anyone.”

“What do you mean?”

“They're probably sending out distress signals to their friends, alerting them of their predicament. Or they're not. It's hard to tell. Either way, it'd be much more safer to just drag them off somewhere else and let the angels find them-”

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Nightinghawk.”

She quickly turned, one arm tightening the string of her bow, but the other not bringing it up to aim. Then she closed her eyes and exhaled. “Castiel.”

“Yes. It's me. I thought you were staying in New York. Or has that changed?”

“Doesn't matter.” She lifted her head and glanced at the man a few feet away from her. He was wearing his usual tan trench coat, the same expression of deep contemplation crossing his face as he watched her. “Why were there angels here? They mentioned something about what Metatron wanted, but they didn't explain completely.”

“Hm. Yes. That sounds like Metatron's angels.” He glanced at the divine beings. His brothers and sisters. And Nightinghawk just treated them like they were common criminals.... He shook himself and looked back at her. “They came here not knowing you would be here?”

She nodded, staring at the angels.

Mathasin blinked. “Who are you again?”

“My name is Castiel. I am an angel from Heaven. Who are you?”

Nightinghawk saw the way the skinny senior was shifting, and immediately threw her arm out in front of Castiel. There was a thud as a knife stuck into an invisible shield barely four inches in front of the angel. She turned to glare at the almost-graduate, letting the knife fall to the ground. His response was typical: skin paling, taking a few steps away, and an apologetic look on his face. In the corner of her eyes, Nightinghawk saw Castiel frown, first at the knife, then the senior, and lastly Nightinghawk.

“You've changed quite a bit since we've last met. You swore to never show your abilities in public.”

“This isn't quite public.”

“But they can tell others.”

“If they tell anyone, it'll be telling UNIT. And they already know about me. Trust me. There's nothing much that they can do to me by just talking.”

Castiel just stared at her for a moment. Then, hesitantly, “Very well. I'll take care of the angels. You should find somewhere safe to stay the night. Metatron's men will be coming after all of you now.”

“All of us?” James repeated.

“You most of all.”

“Why me? They said something crazy about me being a Nephilim-”

“Can you see my wings?”

“What? No, I-”

“Try harder.”

“I don't even understand what you're-”

James suddenly fell silent. Nightinghawk saw the look that crept over his face, knowing he could see the midnight feathers huddled behind the pale trench coat. Nightinghawk looked away.

“Only supernatural beings can see through the veil we pull over ourselves,” Castiel said easily. “Of course, at times some will not be able to see it very clearly, and humans have no ability to see our wings other than the mere shadow of them.”

“Then....” Mathasin glanced at Nightinghawk even though she wasn't looking at any of them.

“She hasn't told you?” Castiel frowned. “I was under the impression she trusted you more than... others. Hm. Well, that is her choice. I'll take the angels with me now.”

Mathasin blinked as the angel moved toward the pile of his kin. “Hey – wait – what are you-?”

There was a flutter of wings and the group vanished. Nightinghawk didn't react, other than to exhale quietly. The three boys glanced at each other, mentally agreeing on what had to be done. Mathasin approached the silent, brooding figure leaning against a tree while the others investigated the various feathers and blood on the ground.

“....Ellie?” Mathasin put a hand on her shoulder. “What just happened? What did that angel mean? How do you _know_ them-”

“I can't tell you.” She turned back to him, pulling her shoulder away from his hand. “Yet. We need to find somewhere we can stay for a night or two.”

“We can't just ignore-”

“We can't just talk about classified issues out in public.”

Mathasin stepped back from the hard gaze she threw at him. He frowned as she looked down at the ground before looking back up at his face.

“Is there anywhere we can stay for a bit?”

“Your house-”

“Isn't even in this state.”

Mathasin winced a bit. “Sorry, I didn't-”

“It's fine. Is there anywhere else?”

He frowned. “There is my house. My parents are out of town with my sister.”

Nightinghawk thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. You still live in the same house?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just trust me. And close your eyes. All of you.”

“What?” The senior narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“But why-”

Nightinghawk snapped a finger. Suddenly they were all in the living room of Mathasin's house. The senior swayed, suddenly hit by a splitting headache. Luckily, Mathasin and James had followed Nightinghawk's order and were spared the pain.

Nightinghawk steadied the senior until his vision returned to normal. “That's why I told you to close your eyes.”

He blinked. “Right. Should've listened to you.” He frowned as her grip tightened. “Are you alright?”

She nodded and let go of him. “Yeah-”

Her body suddenly went limp and crashed to the floor. Mathasin rushed to her side, lifting her head. Her breathing was shallow. Bad sign, right?

“Ellie? Ellie, can you hear me?” he demanded.

She lifted a hand. Showed him three fingers. He nodded and focussed on not panicking as he picked up her form and hurried to his room, setting her down on his bed and pulling a blanket over her. The other two followed.

“What's wrong with her?” James asked.

“She's just exhausted herself. James, can you get a bowl of warm water – not searing hot, just warm – and a cloth?”

The teen nodded and scurried off.

Mathasin glanced at senior, face hardening somewhat. “You haven't told anyone what your name is.”

“Didn't find a reason to do so.”

“What's your name?”

“Can I have some ibuprofen or something? This headache is kill-”

“Your name, and then the medication.”

The senior exhaled. “Dmitri Varlaam.”

Mathasin blinked, hearing the Russian accent coming out in his voice as he said his name. Even though he had been expecting it, the shock was still there. “ _The_ Dmitri Varlaam?”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Look, I didn't _mean_ to blow up the factory! Those guys had guns-”

“Hey, dude.” Mathasin grinned, excitement clear in his voice. “It's alright. We all know about what happened and what didn't happen. You saved people. Not everyone can say that, especially at your age.”

He looked down at his right arm, remembering his first mission. It had been a while after Ellie had... disappeared. He and a few others had been tasked to look around a suspicious hideout for an allegedly harmful group of individuals. Little had he or anyone else known, the people who had come with him _were_ the group he was looking for. Or at least, part of it. Suffice it to say, he hadn't come out unscathed.

Dmitri nudged him, noticing the look on his face. “Hey, I heard about what happened to you, too. How's the arm?”

Mathasin clenched and unclenched his hand and flexed his arm, listening for any clicking. “Well, the hydraulics are still functioning, which is pretty amazing by itself. I'll live.”

James came back in the room, a bowl of water and a wash cloth resting at the bottom of it in one hand, and a glass of water and a bottle of medicine in the other. He handed the bowl to Mathasin and the glass and bottle to Dmitri.

“Thanks,” they both said.

James took a seat nearby as Mathasin wrung out the cloth and gently put it across Ellie's forehead. The sound of someone knocking rang out in the following silence. Mathasin shrugged and stood up, walking back into the main room. He pulled open the door and stared at the four people in suits – three men and a woman. He could almost feel the plummeting feeling in his stomach of something bad about to happen. There were somewhat noticeable bulges in two of the men's suits. And the two behind the ones in front looked a bit less battle worn, but almost just as determined. Worse, one had a suitcase.

Not good.

“Hello,” the one on the right said. He had a trustworthy face, and put his hands in plain sight in front of him; Mathasin instantly figured he was the leader of the group. He pulled a small wallet out and flipped it open, showing him a metal insignia of an eagle. “We are agents from the organization known as SHIELD. You can call me Agent Coulson. This is Agent Ward, Simmons, and Fitz. We have a few questions we'd like you to answer.”

Mathasin nodded a slight bit. “My parents aren't here....”

“Can we just talk to you, then?” Agent Coulson wondered.

“Um.... Yeah, sure.” The teen opened the door a bit wider. “Come on in. Want anything to drink? We have water, tea, coffee....”

“We're fine,” the agent told him with a polite smile as the four of them walked inside. The suitcase was set on the island in the kitchen. “Would you mind if Agent Ward here takes a look around?”

Mathasin glanced at the dark haired man standing just behind Coulson. Hands behind his back, a calculating look in his eyes. “Go ahead.”

He continued watching him as he walked into the nearest room. Of course, he knew that Agent Coulson and his lackeys were watching him, but if that other guy got a hold of UNIT intel....

“You look troubled.”

Mathasin snapped back to looking at Agent Coulson. “Well... a bunch of SHIELD agents just popped up at my door. Doesn't help that I'm a bit paranoid.”

“Why would that be?” the agent asked innocently.

“Because....” He thought about telling him to screw off, but thought better of it and held up his right arm. “Well, last time I met up with a bunch of possibly deadly, analytical war machines, I ended up losing an arm. Well, half an arm.”

The younger man, Agent Fitz, who had moved to the nearby marble countertop frowned. “Lost an arm? Doesn't look like it.”

Mathasin sighed and pressed his thumb to the inside of his other elbow, pulling. He winced slightly as his forearm detached from just above the elbow with a metallic whir and hiss. The man who had been talking stared, wide eyed. The woman and Agent Coulson did the same. He couldn't blame them. To anyone else, he looked like any regular person; not some amputee victim. When he had his arm on, that was.

“Are those...?” The Scottish agent moved over to him, examining the mechanical arm. “You used hydraulics for the joints? How many sensors did you have to use? And-”

“Fitz?” Agent Coulson grinned wryly at Mathasin as the agent shifted back a step. “Don't worry about him. He's an-”

“Engineer.” The teen nodded. “Takes one to know one. And yes I used hydraulics, and it's ridiculous how many sensors I-”

“Coulson! I found her!”

The SHIELD agents immediately looked toward the hall Agent Ward's voice was coming from. The Scot gave Mathasin his arm back as Agent Coulson pulled out his gun and walked down the hallway, practically escorting the others. Mathasin inserted his arm back into place, sighing.

“You don't understand! It's not what you think!” Dmitri shouted. “She's sick or something! You can't just take her!”

 _Wait. Why were they...?_ Mathasin's eyes widened as he pushed past Agents Coulson and Ward. They didn't resist much, though they didn't look happy about it. Everyone in the room was standing, including a bleary looking Elizabeth Nightinghawk. James and Dmitri stood in front of her. Mathasin turned back to the agents. Two of which were holding guns up against them.

Again, not good.

“The person you are harboring broke into a heavily armed aircraft while it was flying in midair,” Agent Coulson said levelly. “She showed the ability of being able to control the bodies of other people, and then disappeared with someone else that we were holding for questioning.”

Everyone glanced at Ellie. She nodded and moved to the front of the group. “Yes, yes, that's all true. I also told you I had no ill intentions toward you or your agency. Not even toward the people living on this planet.”

“You might have said that, but you could have just explained yourself and _not_ ran away,” he returned. “It looks pretty bad for you.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, head tilted down. How could she tell him that she meant no harm if he was already dismissing what she had said all along? Maybe, if she told him.... No. He would just read it as a threat. She closed her eyes with a sigh. She couldn't tell him horror stories, but maybe she could tell him of how helpless she was at the moment. Her head throbbed as she looked back up at him, eyesight showing two groups-

Mathasin caught her as her knees buckled under her. He looked back at them. “She's sick. She... brought us here somehow and then passed out. She's in no condition to be moved.”

“Exactly,” Dmitri said. He squared his shoulders. “And even if you wanted to, you'd have to go through us first!”

Agent Coulson looked them over as his gun started to sink closer and closer to his hip. Ward glanced at him and slowly holstered his weapon while Mathasin pulled Nightinghawk back onto the bed. She groggily looked at Coulson before looking back at Mathasin.

“Recruit.”

He stared for a moment, one eyebrow lifted. “One-oh-eight compromise?”

Ellie grinned at him for a moment – then her eyes fluttered shut and she slumped against him. He quickly checked her vitals, barely noticing as the female agent – Simmons, he later remembered – kneeled next to him and took over.

“What was she talking about?” Agent Ward demanded. “Recruit who? And what's a 'one-oh-eight compromise'?”

For a moment, Mathasin didn't respond. Then he blinked and stood up, making sure Ellie was laying down before looking at the agents. “Oh, right. Follow me.”

Dmitri grabbed his arm as he stood up. “Are you sure about this? A one-oh-eight goes against code four-nine-two.”

“Which can be overruled by an agent,” he murmured.

“No agent said-” He stopped cold. “She isn't-”

“She put the badge on the inside of her trench, most likely to keep from drawing attention to her at the school. She's official.”

Dmitri glanced at the agents – now including Nightinghawk in that bunch – and let go of Mathasin's false arm. “Fine. Not like we can hide much longer anyways.”

“What do you mean by hide?” Agent Coulson wondered.

Dmitri shook his head. “Just follow Mathasin. All of you. Nightinghawk will be fine. She always is.”

They all were frowning. Some more than others, but still frowning. Mathasin led the way out of the room and down to his cellar. The cellar was rather nondescript; gray walls, concrete floor, maybe a few boxes in one of the corners of the room. Nothing fancy. Nothing like the aboveground floors.

But, like everything Mathasin had come to know, it was a lot more than it seemed.

He approached the far wall and pressed a pattern onto concealed buttons. He opened his eyes wide enough for a retina scan and spoke a few rapid fire code words he had etched into his memory, making a door open up in front of him. Mathasin turned back to the group behind him.

“None of you are claustrophobic, right?” he checked. “It'll be a long trip down there.”

“Down where?” Agent Coulson asked.

“The labs, medbay, and data containment areas.”

“You have all of that down there?”

“And my family doesn't know. So if you could keep quiet about it....”

Mathasin tried for a grin, but it felt fake. He was too nervous. First there were SHIELD agents. Then it came out that they were looking for Ellie. Who happens to be into the habit of passing out a lot. Not to mention his best friend was some human-angel hybrid. Talk about a shocker. And, well, the tiny detail that he was disregarding several UNIT laws and restrictions just by telling SHIELD agents about what was under his house. Agents who, most likely, thought they were going to attack them.

Dmitri read his mind. “Look, if you're expecting us to ambush you _in an elevator,_ just take into account that we have no weapons and you have guns. And since it's an enclosed space, one single fire from almost any weapon would cause all our ears to start ringing, which would most definitely stop three teenagers from trying to attack four trained SHIELD operatives. Not to mention the possibility of ricochet. Secondly, just by showing you this stuff, we can be charged with treason and hunted down. Don't ask why, you'll understand when we show you. And did I mention that we're just a bunch of teenagers?”

“A bunch of smart teenagers,” Simmons applied.

“Who know at least the basics of military training,” Ward continued.

Dmitri took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First, we're in high school. We know what logic is. Secondly, _I'm Russian._ My father fought in one of the wars, and taught me what he knew. One of which, is knowing the enemy. Of course, you know that there is more to us than there seems to be, but you currently can only guess. We, as of right now, are not at liberty to discuss the exact facts, but if we enter the lower levels and bring you to the main databases, then we can initiate a one-oh-eight compromise. The compromiseis the only way for us to properly inform you without directly or illegally breaching certain functions of our management.”

Agent Coulson glanced at Ward. “Seems like we have to go with them.”

Mathasin grinned ever so slightly. He liked this Coulson guy. Of course, he knew he was probably never going to get over the whole he's-making-me-a-traitor thing. But he was levelheaded, and he had the trust of the rest of his squad. Which was good.

He stepped into the elevator, with everyone else in tow. He looked up at the roof of the lift. “Section three-oh-nine.”

“Unauthorized person-”

“Override one-thirteen.”

“Access granted.”

The door closed. Mathasin glanced at his watch. There was a silence, which was neither tense nor relaxed. Just silence. The best way he could describe it would have to be something along the lines of patient cautiousness. Which definitely meant that the people they were dealing with were quite dangerous. If them being SHIELD agents wasn't a clue.

“How long is this going to take getting down again?”

Mathasin glanced at Agent Fitz. “Probably around five to ten minutes. I'm betting on closer to five.”

Ward frowned. “You don't know how long this will be?”

“I've only traveled down here with two other people. Even then it was a bit iffy. But now we have seven. Doesn't help that I haven't re-oiled the lines in a few weeks.”

“Are we above the weight load?”

“Not even close. Vibranium alloy doesn't exactly have a tendency to break. Even if it's as thin as a wire cord.”

“This has Vibranium alloy in it?” Fitz blinked. “I didn't know the US had anymore.”

“Well, we get supplied via Britain. None of it is from America.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mathasin noticed Coulson tip his head up a bit more at the comment, before lowering back to where he had previously positioned it. Which meant he had finally figured out who, and exactly where, they were going. The only thing Mathasin was hoping Coulson was still trying to work out, was the _how_ and the _why._ Both of which were highly classified... unless specifically ordered otherwise by a superior officer.

And that thought _did not_ mean he was thinking of how to do that.

The elevator slid to a silent stop and opened. Six and a half minutes. Mathasin and everyone else walked out of the lift and down a black hallway laced with creamy swirls. Written on the walls at each intersection were random numbers, which, to anyone other than Mathasin, would make no sense. Hopefully.

“This place is like a labyrinth,” Simmons muttered. “How do you know how to get around this place?”

“No clue,” James said, just as quiet. “Mathasin mapped this place out when his family moved in. Restored most of the place on his own.”

“On his own?”

“There's a reason _his_ family was chosen to live here.” Dmitri shrugged. “Guess the government really does tap into phone lines. Or, well, something along those lines.”

Mathasin glanced over his shoulder. “C'mon, guys. That's my personal life.”

Dmitri smirked. “ _That_ is nowhere near your personal life.”

Mathasin turned back to look ahead of himself, jabbing a finger in the sky. “The amount of knowledge _you_ know about me, Varlaam, is disturbing.”

“Every intelligence agency has to have intel on their own men. Go ahead and tell me Hylander didn't tell you to watch over someone else.”

Which shut him up. _No one_ just flounced about and talked about _Hylander._ Perhaps they talked about Gable. _Maybe_ Silk. But never Hylander. It was strictly forbidden. Especially when around strangers or possible enemies.

So why would Dmitri?

Yes, everyone knew he was a regular troublemaker, but he followed even the strictest orders when it came to regulations. And that day Hylander had been at the school.... Afterward.... Everyone knew how much he hated being called by name.

Mathasin shook the thoughts away from himself as they neared the data storage area. He slowed down a bit, glancing everything over. Everything _looked_ right, but... something felt different. He couldn't quite pin down the reasoning though. Which was strange, given he knew everything about this place and had practically designed everything in this part of the building-

He stopped stone cold.

The others halted, but said nothing as he held up a hand. He quickly looked around, scrutinizing every nook and cranny his eyes could reach. No blinking light of the cameras. No whirring of supercomputers analyzing terabytes of data. No glow of monitors or buttons on the computers. And... There was a strange smell, like that of rotting food.... But no food had ever been brought down here. So it had to be his imagination. Or....

_“Keep a watch out for any signs of sulphur. It... means there's trouble nearby.”_

Mathasin tensed, looking around. He still remembered the conversations he'd had with Ellie before she ran off. Occasionally their conversations had strayed into stranger aspects – such as sulphur meaning something bad. When he had grown up, he had just dismissed them as a young child's creativity. But in retrospect, Ellie had barely ever _not_ been serious. In truth, he had only ever seen a handful of grand smiles, though they were rather impressionable. Most of her grins were small and almost undetectable.

But if she was right....

“Does anyone have a flashlight?” he whispered.

Agent Ward put his hand in one of his pockets and handed him a flashlight with a raised eyebrow. “We can see perfectly clearly. Why do you need it?”

“To see shadows,” he responded, kneeling down and flicking the light on. Coulson joined him, frowning as he saw a powdery substance coating the ground. He swiped a finger through it, examining the powder.

“It looks like sulphur,” Fitz murmured, kneeling down as well. “I was thinking I had smelled something, but I wasn't quite sure.”

Coulson looked up at Mathasin. “Why did you want to look at this?”

He met the agent's gaze. “To confirm my fears.”

Everyone was watching him. He frowned grimly.

“We aren't alone. Something is down here with us.”

 


	6. Just So You Know

**221B BAKER STREET,**

**LONDON, ENGLAND**

“Just let him in already,” Sherlock grumbled, leaning back on the flat's sofa, one arm lazily dangling toward the ground as he stared at the faint yellow circle on the opposite side of the room. He detested the way the “security officers” had to search John's person for any concealed weapons. As if John already didn't know the procedure. He had come to visit almost every single day, for Christ's sake!

Well, there was that intermission of almost a month. John had just dismissed the whole thing as if nothing had happened. Which, Sherlock had immediately noted, was not exactly John Watson's usual behavior. And Mary refused to talk to him. At least, that's what he said. He was obviously hiding something. _And_ keeping Mary from coming anywhere near him.

But why?

Sherlock intended to find out as soon as possible. And the “security officers” were not making his efforts any easier. Meanwhile, he was also supposed to find out where Moriarty was, while stuck in a four block radius of his house. Efficient? Hardly. Hindering the investigation of the whereabouts of the most devious criminal mastermind London has ever known? _Definitely._

Sherlock exhaled as Watson walked in, only sparing a glance at his friend. “Anything new?”

“Just a few random murders,” Watson told him, sitting down in a chair across from him. “Nothing that sounds like Moriarty, though. The little demon could be anywhere.”

Sherlock steepled his fingers. “That's the fifth time this week you've mentioned demons. And the week before you started bringing up leviathans.”

“And?”

“You know bringing up fantasies made by delusional men on drugs won't mean a single thing to me. So there's no point in even subtly mentioning theological beasts.”

“And if there _was_ a reason?”

Sherlock had to glance over at that. A reason to bring up religion to the world's most well known atheist alive? He narrowed his eyes. Why was he smirking? Was this some sort of joke? No. Watson wouldn't have even tried joking about his atheism. Too much of a “touchy subject”. So, not a joke. Something else. He was wearing a suit. Pricey one. Not bought by Mary. She would have bought something of a lighter color. Perhaps even pinstripe. But this suit was definitely too expensive for Mary to have agreed upon the purchase in the first place. Which would mean that John went out and got it on his own. Strange. The two had a tendency to agree on everything that they did. Unless they had had a falling out, in which case John and Mary would do anything without consulting the other. Though John was still nit-picky about price....

“There _is no reason,_ John,” Sherlock grumbled. He had no interest in talking about theology. And Watson _knew that._

“But if there was?”

“Then you might be trying to get me to not be an atheist. Now, why did you come?”

Watson ignored the question. “They're real.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “John, do you honestly-”

“Just trust me with this. I know they're real.”

“Do you have any _proof_ of such accu....”

Sherlock stared at the man in front of him as he opened his eyes. Just stared. Large ears, silvery blonde hair, laugh lines, worry lines, and... _black_ eyes. _Completely black eyes._ Watson blinked, eyes returning to their usual mossy brown.

“Believe in us now?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “This has to be a joke of some kind.”

Watson let out a long breath, tilting his head back. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. You really do not impress me.”

...Which definitely was not something John would have said. The detective didn't flinch when his best friend looked back at him with completely black eyes once more. He merely pondered a few thoughts here. A few thoughts there.

“Why are you here?”

The man shrugged. “I've been waiting for you to notice me. Honestly, I hate waiting. Especially when I have to be with someone like _you._ ”

Sherlock waited for him to continue.

He just rolled his dark eyes, Russian rolling off his tongue effortlessly.

He narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“He says to keep your eyes open and always searching for him.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, and he listens to all of your compositions.”

“That's to be expected. Did he say anything else?”

“Nothing much. Just wanted to let you know.” He stood up. “I guess I'll be going now.”

“Yes. You will. After you tell me why you've possessed John.”

At that, the – Sherlock didn't even want to _say_ demon, but that was what he was talking to – smirked. “Personal benefits.”

“Hm.”

“Until next time, Sherlock.” The demon slipped out of the room and back down the stairs. Sherlock watched him walk away through the window, waiting for him to be out of sight. Then he leisurely pulled his cell phone out and dialed the phone number of an old friend, waiting for it to pick up.

“Hello?”

“It's Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock? Real Sherlock?”

“What other Sherlock is there?”

“Good point. What is it that you need?”

“It's John. He's... been acting strange. Can you help?”

“Serious case?”

“Something like that.”

Silence seemed to settle in. No. Not silence. A few people were arguing with each other in the background. Typical.

“They'll be by shortly.”

The line cut. Sherlock shook his head and slipped his phone into his pocket. _Typical Doctor._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how short this one was. The next chapter will definitely be longer!


	7. The Prolixity of Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some characters are introduced, threats are given, pacts are made, and a lot of discussion is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for the extremely long wait; lots of stuff has been going on recently. Also, this chapter has really been bugging me, so I've mainly been editing it for the last few months. That being said, this chapter is also very dialogue heavy. Hope you enjoy it!

**UNDER MATHASIN'S HOUSE,**

**BALTIMORE, MARYLAND**

“What do you mean something is down here with us?”

James glanced around at the group. Everyone was tensed up and paranoid by this point. Not to say that he himself wasn't, but, well.... A Russian was facing down a whole squad of SHIELD agents while a UNIT trainee was fussing over sulphur lining the ground and he himself had no idea how to respond to the situation at hand; the day could be better than it already was.

Nonetheless, he trusted Mathasin's instincts. And he had stopped _before_ he had noticed the sulphur, so there had to be other reasons he had stopped. Reasons he could help with figuring out why they were even there to begin with. He turned around in a circle, searching everything he could see.

...Which wasn't much.

There were lights infused in the walls that took away a good amount of shadows, but halfway up the hall they seemed to be about to cut off. Some were dimmer than others, and a few further away were completely shut off. He wasn't completely sure if that was a good sign or not, but Mathasin was acting as if someone had just torn his arm off with the way he was ignoring everyone else and focusing on his engineering. He had already successfully dismantled the side panels of the wall, and half of his body was shoved into the mess of wires within the wall.

“We should leave if someone else is down here.”

James turned back to look at Coulson. “I don't think we can.”

He was met with quizzical looks from the other party. He elaborated.

“If someone is down here, they most likely are at the security station. They would have known that we had come down and sealed off the elevator and auxiliary entrances and exits.”

A shiver coursed through his body as he looked off to the side again. Something was up with this place.... He'd been down here plenty of times, but he'd never felt so... _watched._ Though if someone was at the security station it would make sense as to _why_ he felt that way. But how could someone have gotten down here? All the entrances were heavily fortified and required several impossible to duplicate substances in order to get inside.

Could they be somewhere else? Technically, it was possible to hack into Mathasin's servers. The only thing holding that option back was Mathasin's reputation. UNIT had set up various IT people dedicated to hacking into the VS. That had been over five years ago, though. Not a single person had managed to crack the code and weasel their way into files without having their computers wiped, setting off alarms, or finding fake files instead of the real ones. These people had the highest degrees from the highest colleges around the world. And they couldn't beat an encryption that had been created by a twelve year old. James had found that fact to be rather odd; he had managed to break through the code in less than five minutes when he was given a try. Mathasin had insisted it was a fluke. But that was a completely different-

“Brines.”

James snapped his head back to look at Dmitri, who was gesturing toward Agent Ward. “Yes?”

“We've been trying to talk to you for a bit. You okay?”

“Yeah. I'm fine. Usual protocol.” He glanced back at Dmitri.

The Russian nodded. “They mainly work as either mechanists, scientists, or field orchestrators. They're taught to forget the shouts from crowds while in times of crisis or while being attacked. It helps with them giving or carrying out orders from those in their squad.”

That being said, James nodded and walked over to Mathasin. He had pulled himself out of the wall and was working on prying off another section of the wall. Even though it was against UNIT code, the fact that the walls were actually highly advanced computers never made it into the blueprints. But Mathasin had thought it was best to keep portions of the underground facility a secret from the government. Especially since he considered it “his own little Da Vinci.” James, however, knew it was just his paranoia and distrust toward people in positions of high power.

“Stupid circuits on the fritz....” Mathasin winced as sparks flew around his hands, sparing a glance at James. “Someone reset the codes for this section. They must be trying to hack into UNIT. I think your security theory is right. That's the only place where they can reset any part of the mainframe.”

“But the security room is heavily guarded. Retina scans, fingerprint tests, vocal records, DNA screenings.” James frowned. “Barely anyone can get into the room. Unless they can tear out your eye, cut a thumb off of you, record your voice, and take your DNA _and_ make it so that the machine doesn't take in any of their own DNA.”

Mathasin nodded his head side to side. “Potentially.”

“What?”

“Assume a foreign contaminant got into... the labs. The whole place would be shut down, right?”

“Right. But the base isn't in lockdown.”

“True,” he allowed, turning to him fully. “But one of the materials not allowed in the base is – surprise, surprise-”

“Sulphur.” James took a deep breath, putting a hand on his face. “We've been hacked then?”

“Or someone sabotaged the pistons and deadlocks, which would keep the doors from closing.” He shrugged. “Happens. Well, that or my machinery was faulty. That happens too. Although....” He winced slightly. “Virus?”

“That would cover everything.” James let a small growl of frustration escape his throat. “You know that you are horrible with firewalls, too.”

“Hey, even Stark said my work was good quality!”

“ _I_ could hack into it.”

“That was my first model-”

“Hey, hey!” Dmitri shot them a quick glare. “No fighting. Things are bad enough as is. What _exactly_ have you found out so far?”

The two glanced at each other and then at Dmitri. “Someone may or may not have gotten a virus into the network.”

“But they would have needed to be in the security room for that. Or the databases.”

“Which are both heavily guarded.”

“And yet the codes for this section have been warped and mangled to bits.”

James blinked at him. “Less mangling please.”

Mathasin waved his hand. “The thing is, even if someone _wasn't_ down here, we'd have to go to the security room in order to fix the codes. The codes enable me to go through the scans properly and thus get into the databases. So without the correct codes, we can't show you anything. And if we can't show you anything, then coming down here was a complete waste of time. So we might as well head there.”

“But we should be ready for if someone, or multiple someones, are somewhere in this maze of perpetual dead ends and traps.”

Mathasin gave him a look askance. “And you make fun of my mangling metaphors?”

“Mathasin, this place _is_ a death trap to anyone except you and me. If anyone else gets lost, they'll either run into one of your defenses or find themselves in a place we can't get to. It's a technical fact.”

He frowned. “Is there even such a thing as a technical fact?”

“Doesn't matter,” Coulson interjected. “We needed a way out. You two did a good job finding one. Now we need to get into the security room.”

“Right.” Mathasin tapped his chin. “Follow me. And stay close.”

He hurried back down the hall they had come from, taking a left. He continued to analyze the walls and lights as he walked. Certain segments were darker than others, not necessarily flickering, but definitely somewhat defective. Frowning, he decided to come back later and refit the whole entire base with better lights _he_ designed. Stark's were definitely too easy to break. Or maybe he had just been given cheap ones.

“So what exactly do you know about Ellie?” Mathasin asked, giving Coulson another quick look over before looking ahead again.

“Ellie?” Coulson returned, looking slightly confused.

“Elizabeth Nightinghawk.”

“Not a lot. And most of it is classified.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to Dmitri. “Can I just tell them already? This is kinda getting ridiculous with all the secrecy and stuff. Plus, we're in a life and death situation. Secrets aren't helping anyone stay calm.”

The Russian frowned. “There's a reason for having secrets, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. But all the rules state is that we have to show them. Technically, I'd be showing by word of mouth.”

Dmitri exhaled. “Fine. Go ahead. I have a feeling the rules aren't going to apply much longer anyways.”

“Finally!” Mathasin returned to Coulson. “We're UNIT trainees.”

“What!?”

Mathasin waved his hand dismissively at the incredulity on their faces, grin widening into a smirk. “Please. Kaliber High School _is_ the caliber for most UNIT rich environments. If you ask me, the name is outrageously obvious, which is why no one notices anything about it.” He spun around again, quickening slightly as he made wide gestures with his hands. “Everyone plays a sport or some type of musical instrument, or both, while maintaining an average GPA of over three point seven through out their entire high school career. And there are no such thing as standardized classes. Only honors and AP, through which not a single student has failed to achieve getting a ninety-four or above in any given subject since the instatement of the school in 1972.”

The hall was silent. James blinked at Mathasin.

“I thought you said you were _failing_ history class.”

“I said it was my worst subject.” He shrugged. “The only reason I actually know all that is because I hacked into the school's mainframe and accessed their files.”

“That was _you?_ ” Dmitri said slowly.

“Of course. That's why they wanted-” His eyes lit up. “Hey, look! We're here!”

Dmitri exhaled. “ADHD gets in the way of _every_ conversation with you, Mathasin.”

“Huh?” He looked over from where he was tearing away a section of the wall's exoskeleton.

“Nothing.” Dmitri glanced at the SHIELD agents, opening his mouth to say something before shaking his head and looking away.

“It doesn't make sense though,” Simmons muttered. “UNIT has a code when it comes to the age limit on their agents.”

“There's no limit to their age on initiates,” James replied. “But even so, not everyone in the school is allowed into the training program.”

“How long have you been in the program?” Ward wondered, pulling his gun out with Coulson as the nearest door slid open.

“I've been in it since I was seven. Mathasin and Nightinghawk both joined in the same year.” James took a blade offered to him by Dmitri.

“What are those?” Fitz queried. “They don't look like regular metal.”

Dmitri spun the second in his hand. “Nightinghawk gave them to the others when they were confronted by some... er, unwanted visitors. If this has anything to do with her, I'm sure these'll work. Mathasin, this'll be yours.”

He held his hand out from the hole he had made in the wall. “Good. At least someone knows who's good at baseball.”

Coulson glanced over at the senior. “What are you going to be using?”

“I've trained in various hand to hand combat scenarios. Don't worry about me.”

“I can't believe we're letting minors help us,” Ward muttered.

James glanced at him. “Dmitri's of legal age.”

The burly figure turned his dark eyes on him. “That really helps.”

He shrugged, looking down. “There's evidence that people even younger than us have been the reason for saving not only our planet, but the entire galaxy, or even the universe.”

“...How do you know that?”

A giggle echoed from the chute Mathasin had squirmed into. “That would be the aerosolized sodium thiopental!”

Simmons blinked. “Sodium thiopental is a barbiturate found in truth serums used by the CIA.”

“Yup!” He pried himself out of the opening. “I found out when I was checking the interface down near the data labs. You know how I was talking about sulfur being in the area? Well, there was pure sulfur, and then there was the sulfur in the sodium thiopental. I'm fairly certain that the system picked up the sodium thiopental first since it first checks for airborne products before material products.”

“Why didn't you mention this before?” Coulson said sharply.

“Well, first there's the implication that _we_ did this and that we're leading you into a trap, which isn't true.” He stood up, looking deadly serious. “Secondly, there was a lack of trust back then. From what we've all said, we know that we can trust each other. Because no matter what, the things we've said since we entered that hall have all been truths.”

Dmitri closed his eyes. ”Mathasin, next time _anything_ is going on that we should know about, you tell us immediately.”

“Code states that I shouldn't. Then again you said rules no longer apply to us.” He grinned and twirled his sword. “Now, who's ready to figure out who got into themselves UNIT territory?”

. . . . . .

There was no way of getting into the room undetected. The boss knew that. His underlings knew that. So it came as no surprise when the visiting party came into view from the one hallway leading to the room. No one attacked, though some were rather uncomfortable with the glinting swords in two of the members hands. What weaklings! They knew what he was planning. Though he assumed they also knew how he planned to use them as canon fodder. Seeing how he was their king and they were mere demons, he had trouble believing they didn't know what he was up to. They were supposed to follow his every whim, spoken or unspoken.

That aside, he smirked. “'Ello there. Finally found your invitation to the party?”

The Russian looked him in the eyes. “This is UNIT territory. Identify yourselves and commit yourselves to questioning or we will use force.”

“Yes, well.” He glanced around. “We have, er, John, Kim, Wayne.... Ralph, right? And then Quinn, Danny, and... a few others; I can never remember their names. Which brings us to me. You can call me the King of Hell.”

One of the swords fell out of trembling hands, prompting him to glance at the only African-American individual in the room. “Careful. Might kill someone with that, Nephilim.”

The boy tensed. “Crowley. Your name is Crowley.”

He grinned. “I see you've started tapping into that hidden knowledge of yours. Good start, though you're still rather pathetic. Now, pick up the sword. You'll need it.”

Crowley turned his attention to the real leader of the group as the kid kneeled to pick up the sword. “Now, look. I don't know any of your names, and to be honest I don't really care. I'm just trying to warn you of a few things, since I'm on the inside and all-”

“Wait a minute.” The other kid brandished his sword as if confused, making a few demons hiss as he stepped forward. “You're the King of Hell, so you're a demon, but you want to help us, even though those jerk-ass angels tried killing us less than a few hours ago? _And_ you expect us to not only listen, but trust you?”

There was a moment of silence where everyone stared at him. Most looked as though they thought him to be crazy, though for different reasons. Then Crowley sighed.

“Yes. One of those 'jerk-ass' angels decided to mess around with the timeline. Inevitably this created a _second_ Nephilim, and added a whole entire other side to this idiotic war.”

“What war?”

“It's mainly Abbadon versus the Winchesters, but there's also this whole entire civil war with the angels. Honestly, my demons and I are just watching the show. But now there's _you all_ and that mad man they call an alien with his lackeys.” He rolled his eyes.

The kid leaned on his sword's hilt as if it was a marble counter top. “So, what? You came here, messed up my place, and scared the hell out of Brines just because you wanted to tell us about your problems?”

Crowley thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Just about.”

“But?”

“But I'm afraid I can't just let your side in on the fun. Doesn't make any sense to let in a group that can't handle themselves.”

“Hence all the demons.” He didn't move to straighten up, though the others tensed. “Great. So I guess you can leave and let us get started?”

The demon king stood up, putting a glass of what seemed to be wine on the nearest computer console. “Something like that.” He glanced at the others. “You know what to do.”

. . . . . .

James shouldn't have been surprised when Crowley and two of his men disappeared. Demons did that sort of thing. Why would he think differently? It wasn't like a demon was going to just suddenly not have any powers, right?

Though, to be fair, he was still wrestling with the whole Nephilim thing. Even as he brought his sword up to deflect an oncoming knife, his thoughts strayed to events in the distant past. He had grown up in Baltimore, which meant that he had seen quite a lot of strange things happen. Every other day there was mention of strange homicides, or arsons, or real life aliens flying through the sky. He had never told anyone, but he swore he had seen a few cyclopes before. And some lady had hissed at him when he had gotten lost a few years back.

But to think he was part of that group?

He was forced into reality as Dmitri pulled him away from a close stab to his stomach. “The guns aren't working; give me your sword!”

He nodded quickly and swapped position with him, falling back behind Coulson and Ward. A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him further under cover. He found himself next to Fitz and Simmons. He flinched as a knife nearly hit his foot and kicked a demon in the chest reflexively.

“They really seem to want to kill you!” Fitz shouted over the din of firing guns and clanging blades.

“Apparently I could be used in this war for some angel thing!” he replied.

“Are there really angels?” Simmons wondered.

“Yeah!” He glanced around the corner at the carnage and inhaled. Why was everything tinted blue? He took another shuddering breath as words flitted in front of him. “Stay here!”

Dodging a hand that grabbed for him, he stood in the middle of the hall, hand thrust away from him with his palm out. He spouted out lines of Latin as if having memorized them ages ago.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica.”_ The roar of battle began to dwindle, some of the demons wincing and stumbling back. _“Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis Humiliare sub potenti manu Dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili Nomini. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica!_ ”

James saw a flash of colors before noticing himself on the floor. Someone was shaking him, gripping his shirt. He stirred slowly, feeling sluggish. He caught a glimpse of golden eyes before grinning and taking a deep breath.

“...My chest hurts like hell.”

Mathasin let out a relieved chuckle. “Nice to have you back, Brines.”

Inching his way up into a sitting position, he looked around. All of the demons were gone, leaving behind the shells of their victims. Most of them appeared to have already been dead, but there were a few people who were holding wounded arms and sides. Fitz and Simmons were helping the injured find the nearest exit with an old map. He frowned and rubbed his forehead.

“How'd you do that?” Ward was eyeing him cautiously, as though James was about to kill him next.

The boy simply shrugged, ignoring the untrusting expressions. “They were demons. I exorcised them.”

“Demons aren't real.”

“Believe that if you will. But we were just attacked by a horde of them. That man, Crowley, was their king.”

“That doesn't make any sense,” Fitz muttered.

James forced himself to merely take a deep breath. “Apparently I'm a Nephilim. And I'm not even religious. But if you listen to what you hear, and at least entertain the idea as a truth, you'll find yourself much less confused.” He turned to Mathasin, yet again ignoring the strange looks he received. “I need a phone.”

Mathasin nodded, pulling open a drawer and tossing him a cheap burner. James quickly dialed a number and waited for the line to pick up at the other end. The others turned away from him after a moment. He exhaled as the ringer sent him to voicemail, finally standing up.

“Colonel, there's been an incident at the labs. It looks like an I-eight-hundred. Half a dozen at least. One left early, but not until he trashed the place. Swanson is checking the database for anything missing after venting the place of sodium thiopental.” Mathasin took that as the initiative to start typing at a computer. “We should get going.” A paper was shoved into his hand. “Swanson is saying that you should come by in an hour and ask about his favorite food.” James glanced back at Mathasin before shaking his head and closing the phone.

“Who's Swanson?” Coulson appeared at his side.

Mathasin raised a hand. “That'll be me!”

“Your last name?”

“Nah. It's a reference to a swan song. You know, the appearance of saying goodbye.” He turned back to his computer, the vents snapping open. “Mathasin is my last name. I started using it as my preferred name when I started taking Latin as my second language. My first name is Vale. It literally means 'goodbye' in Latin.” He shrugged a bit, leaning forward to fiddle with some cords. “The more important question is whether or not Brines over here is alright.”

James nodded as Coulson turned to him, offering an reassuring smile. “I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache.”

“Catch.”

James glanced over and quickly caught a bottle of ibuprofen Dmitri had thrown to him. “Um. Thanks.”

He waved him off, continuing a conversation with Ward – wasn't the agent just glaring at him a moment ago? – and writing something down on a scrap of paper.

“Finished.” Mathasin stood up. “Let's get out of here.”

. . . . . .

“What's that noise?”

Mathasin shrugged. “Sounds like a cello.”

James turned to him. “Were you're parents supposed to come back so soon?”

He shook his head. “No. It's probably Ellie. She used to play the cello back when she was attending Kaliber.”

“That was years ago, though.”

“She's pretty much a musical prodigy. I mean, from what I remember at least.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Mathasin checked his watch as he walked out and put the wall back together. The plucking of strings upstairs faded. The group climbed the stairs and confronted the much desired brightness of natural light. Mathasin headed toward the main rooms, glancing at the cello laying near a music stand and then at Ellie. He raised an eyebrow.

“You took a shower?” he asked.

She turned to him, passing a towel through her hair. “Yeah. I'm glad to see you're all okay.”

“Yeah, nothing much happened,” Mathasin said sarcastically. “James exorcised a bunch of demons and Crowley appeared in the security room. Fun.”

“Could have been worse.” She glanced at the rest of them. “I was going to try and help, but there was no way for me to get into there. I'm guessing that would be Mathasin's VS and encryptions.”

“Yeah, well, I can't let just anyone-”

James sagged, just barely being caught by Dmitri.

“More on that later,” he ordered. “James isn't doing all too well.”

Nightinghawk put her towel down. “How many demons were down there?”

Coulson frowned. “At least ten.”

Ward sighed. “Are we seriously going to believe that there are demons running around out there?”

“Why shouldn't you?” Nightinghawk snapped her fingers and a small bag fell into her hands. “You're in charge of keeping advanced humans from destroying cities. You really think all of them are completely human, and their abilities are simply a defect that has grown as time went on?” She shook her head and approached James. “Evolution doesn't work that way.” She held a small yellow cube in front of the nearly-passed out teen. “Eat this. Slowly.”

He nodded sluggishly and with the last of his strength began chewing on the cube. Some color came back to his face as he blinked. “It tastes like pineapple.”

“It's ambrosia. It'll heal most wounds and injuries, but it's deadly to mortals.” She glanced at Dmitri and the other agents. “Do not eat _anything_ that has ambrosia in it.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Mathasin wondered, putting a hand to his forehead. “Ever since you got here you've been spitting out mythology and religion like you _know_ it's completely true.”

“Well, that's because it is.” She easily closed the bag, letting the material shiver away in a small gust of sand. “Well, most religions. Some are just randomly made by insane people.”

“How did you do that?” Fitz pointed toward her hands, shifting and seeming slightly nervous.

“Easy.” She shrugged. “Magic. It comes naturally to me. Apparently I'm a descendant of Hor-Aha, one of the Egyptian pharaohs from way back when the Pagan gods were still being worshipped on a daily basis.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then, “This is insane.”

Nightinghawk exhaled through her nose. “This world has been attacked by Asgardians. Most notably the _god_ of thunder, Thor, and his brother, Loki. Both of which come from Norse mythology. You-” She looked directly at Coulson. “-at the very least, have seen them up close and personal. SHIELD has documents on at least the last few dozen cases in which Thor has been a part of. It's kind of impossible for you all to be saying gods don't exist when you probably just got through some sort of skirmish with at least one of them. That being said, if there are gods, who's to say there isn't a heaven or a hell, and thus demons and angels?”

Mathasin glanced at the agents. The two scientists looked both nervous and uncomfortable, while Coulson seemed open to the suggestion and Ward just plainly didn't look happy _at all._ Brines had a look similar to that of Coulson's, and Varlaam had his arms crossed and a tight frown spread on his face.

“Okay, so, um...” He closed his eyes, trying to grasp for a somewhat less radical topic than religion. “I guess gods and aliens aren't all too different on the scale of weirdness. We'll just have to adjust. But...” He shifted, and then opened his eyes to look at Ellie. “Why exactly _are_ you here? I mean... it's been three years since you've been here last, and you had federal agents after you, but at the same time you made sure to contact James and I? None of it really seems to connect yet, though it all is obviously connected.”

She nodded slightly. “Fair enough question.” Glancing at the agents one last time, she took a deep breath. “I actually came to ask if anyone at Kaliber found anything new on the societies in Britain. Namely Centipede.”

“Centipede?” Dmitri's eyes grew wide. “You mean the extremist group that's been on the news recently?”

“Yes. Them.”

Coulson nodded slightly. “Which means this has something to do with our friend Benton?”

“Who's Benton?” Mathasin glanced at Ellie.

“He's a... colleague of mine,” she offered. “He was recently grabbed by a Centipede group, and then by this team of SHIELD agents. He was a bit worried about their next move, so I told him I'd look into their next movements.”

Dmitri passed a hand through his hair. “Centipede. That's... El- Nightinghawk, they've practically left the UK. Not much is known from the UNIT databases, but the most recent sighting of them was somewhere around Oregon or California. One of their factories blew up.”

“Yeah. Blew up.” Mathasin shifted, unsure. “I know quite a bit about that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How-”

“It's how I lost my arm.” He shrugged. “I was out there on a camping exercise with the rest of my team when we got notified about some shady looking business going on nearby. We were ordered to scope out the area, but two of the others were taken when we split up. I managed to sneak in through the roof. Apparently most of my team was in league with Centipede. There was an explosion, and I was knocked unconscious. Next thing I knew, I was in the back of a helicopter on my way to a hospital missing half my arm and portions of my hip and spine.” He shifted a bit, glancing at Dmitri and Ellie before turning to Coulson. “When the reports came back, there were over two dozen casualties. Seven died on sight or in a hospital. The others that survived went completely off the grid after the incident or were found half a year later, dead. I've been trying to look into the matter further, but almost as soon as the files on it are made, they're redacted and pulled from all the databases.”

There was a moment of silence, the agents in various states of shock and disbelief, Nightinghawk included. Mathasin didn't care much for the event, other than the fact that it let him stay around his sister more often. Those few months gave him enough time to properly bond with his sister and create the braces that helped her walk on an everyday basis. It was the only period in time where both of them had been in a wheelchair at the same time, and it was the only time his sister was capable of walking when he himself wasn't. He lowered his gaze, shifting a bit.

“The point is,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “The point is that I know enough about the organization to say with enough certainty that they've become local to America. So, we don't know anything about what exactly they're doing here, but they're definitely trying to perfect their research. Probably trying to make it not explode.”

“Do you know what it is they're trying to perfect?” Ellie's lips pursed, obviously not enjoying the lack of specific information.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “But it's confidential.”

She exhaled. “Mathasin – and this goes for you two as well, Varlaam and Brines – effective immediately, all SHIELD personnel following Agent Coulson's orders are to be exempt from all boundary protocols within UNIT-”

“You can't do that without proper authority-”

“Varlaam,” she snapped. “With all due respect, the complications of current events leave me in an incredibly tight position. From here on, I will have to be acting as an ambassador between UNIT, SHIELD, and several other important groups. However, I cannot do so alone. You three are going to have to help me.”

Agent Ward sighed and leaned against a wall. “You see, you keep on explaining things by dodging the real subjects. Why do you _have_ to become an ambassador? And how does this situation of yours put yourself in such a position? You'd still have to get permission from your superiors. And that's all going off of the possibility of you being an agent in the first place. Which technically isn't legal.”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it, face flushing. Mathasin instantly recalled that look and stepped in. “It's a really long story as to why she's an agent in the UNIT task force. And you should probably keep in mind that she passed out earlier. You can't expect everything from her.”

“And with that being said,” she rushed out, rocking back on her heels before turning and marching into the kitchen, “we should get going!”

Despite having just defended her, he found a small pit of annoyance boiling in his stomach. “Since when?” He hurried to follow her. “And to where? And what are you writing?”

“We have to get going.” She barely glanced at him, scribbling notes on a paper quickly. “I know all of this is happening very quickly, but I need you three, at the very least, to stay calm and follow what I say. There's a camp not to far from here with someone, a superior of mine, who can explain all of this quite a bit more than I can.”

“Do you mean someone from UNIT?” Dmitri glanced at the agents, shrugging at the looks they gave.

“No. Not exactly. I mean.” She took a breath and exhaled. “UNIT kinda know about us, but not really. And – well – there have been complications, and-”

“Stop,” James said quietly, his sudden intervention grabbing the attention of everyone in the room. He rubbed his arm, looking down slightly. “Whatever it is that you're hiding, I'm sure that we can take it. I mean, apparently I'm a, uh, Nephilim, right? Didn't know that before. And we just fought off a bunch of demons in Mathasin's _basement._ Never would have thought I'd have to say that before.” He crossed his arms and looked up at her. “The point is, everyone here has no idea what is going on, and you're the only one with all the answers. So spill. Please.”

She pursed her lips, fidgeted, and then put the pen in her hands down. “Alright. When you put it that way, I guess it all makes sense.” Glancing at the SHIELD team, who seemed rather interested in how this all was going to go down, she sighed. “So _you all_ know, Kaliber is a high school targeting the highly proficient for an introductory phase that comes prior to UNIT training. Us four have been in it for quite some time, but only I have been able to surpass the training and graduate to the status of a full-fledged agent. So, by technicality, I have been trespassing and committing treason for quite some time; which is why you might have noticed that all of my files have been redacted.” Her hand trilled across the marble table in front of her. “For the rest of you, I recently came into contact with this team when they came dangerously close to revealing a delicate... situation for quite a variety of people. I needed to keep them from putting all the pieces together for just a bit longer since an acquaintance of mine was in a fragile state of mind.”

A pause in the story, simply to gain what breath had left her. And perhaps to figure out how to procrastinate on telling the next chapter. She never enjoyed having to say it; the reactions were always so... different. She didn't like not knowing what would come next.

“Which brings us to why I am here,” she decided. “Benton Fuller, the acquaintance I spoke about, had recently been in an excursion with the terrorist group known as Centipede. Seeing as the SHIELD agents were looking into the group, Benton hacked into SHIELD, and effectively alerted them to his presence. This mostly wouldn't have been much of an issue had it not been for the fact that he had been missing for quite some time, as well as the sensitive information he had on him. My primary task was to extract him from a SHIELD suited airplane while it was in the air, to ensure certain secrets were kept.” Gods, the truth sounded horrible when she put it so blatantly. “When he was safely brought back to our camp, he asked me to look further into the matters regarding Centipede. The only place I thought to look was with Gable or Hylander, for any news from Britain. They didn't have much to say, so I decided to stay with Mathasin and Brines for the time being. Which led to all of this.”

“Alright,” Mathasin murmured, steepling his hands before flattening them and pointing at her. “I guess that fills in a few gaps. Like why _they_ wanted to take you in. And I guess also why you came here again. But... how? How does this all _really_ fit together? What camp are you talking about? What the hell is up with all of these angels and demons and nonsense regarding the Greeks and Romans? You didn't say anything about that all.”

“Angels?” Ward pushed off from a nearby wall. “I get the demons, sorta, but what happened with angels?”

Nightinghawk took a deep breath. “That's what I was getting to. As I was walking with Mathasin and Brines, I overheard what is colloquially considered Angel Radio. I barely ever hear any of it, but when angels – yes, they're a thing, stop looking at me like that – but when I'm near angels, I can hear the slight buzzing from their 'radio'. I went into a clearing and was confronted by several angels looking for Brines. That was when I was given word that he was a Nephilim. Simultaneously, I noticed something off with Mathasin's... uh, how should I put this? Some people have a certain... vibe? Yes, they have a sort of vibe that they unknowingly send out. It's very hard to pick out, but I could tell Mathasin's was different than a normal human's.”

She paused for a moment, just to let that sink in a tiny bit. Though, judging by the increasingly confused expressions, there really wasn't a point in stopping. As soon as Mathasin opened his mouth, she hurriedly continued.

“Which brings me to the part I absolutely _know_ none of you will believe. I'm a demigod. Specifically a daughter of Apollo.”

Coulson's eyes widened, along with Ward's and Brine's. Varlaam, Mathasin, and the two scientists had incredulous looks on their faces. Bad, but not as bad as she had been expecting. Most people at this point would being saying-

“That's insane.”

-that she was insane. She sighed, sitting down in one of the chairs near the island and pushing her hair back. “Look, I know, it's ridiculous to think about. A bunch of immortal gods playing house with the entire world? It's absolutely bonkers, and relatively speaking highly unlikely. But then again, the world has come into contact with _Norse gods_ and no one batted an eye. Gods, that was a disaster. But anyways. My point is, we already know that god-like beings exist. You can think that they're secretly aliens from outer space for all I care, but they're real. Poseidon, Zeus, Hades – they're all just as real as Thor and Loki.”

She tensed just slightly as Coulson took a seat in front of her, and saw Mathasin shift from where he stood nearby.

“I think you're telling the truth,” he said, and she felt a part of her uncoil unexpectedly. “No one in SHIELD has ever quite thought to look into the possibility of Greek gods being around. It even kinda makes sense, what with all the events that occurred in Manhattan years prior to the Chitari Invasion-”

She shivered. “Battle of Manhattan. Yeah. Not pretty.”

Dmitri tilted his head slightly. “Are you two saying that the weird thing that happened with all of New York suddenly burning to the ground was due to Greek gods?”

“Yes.” “Not exactly.”

Coulson looked at her. “Carry on.”

“The Battle of Manhattan was the resolution of a war between the gods and the titans. Mainly Kronos and the Olympians, and Hades fought for the Olympians. It's a long story. You probably know more about it than you think, actually.” She shifted. “But anyway, back to the point. Greek gods are around. Once you get that, it makes sense that the Romans are also around. It's... complicated.” The look on Coulson's face made her uncomfortable with continuing, but she glanced at Mathasin and Brines and went through with her next thought. “Based on my own intuition and the talk I had with the angels, I can guess that Mathasin might also be a demigod-”

“What?”

She stood up and walked to him. “Look, I know it's weird – and this goes to you too, Brines – it's weird finding out you are part of some secret group with weird ass powers, but you'll adjust. I promise. I mean, weird things have always happened to you two. Remember that field trip to the museum? You read an entire transcript of a Roman military officer's letters to his superiors, and they were written in _Latin._ You were barely even in your first year, I didn't make any sense. But-”

“Let me guess,” he cut in. “Demigods can read Latin naturally.”

“Typically, yes. Well, demigods born under a Roman god. I'm Greek, so I can read Greek rather well. Latin really isn't my thing.”

“Ben used Greek to encrypt his computer files,” Fitz burst in.

Nightinghawk tensed and turned quickly. “You still have his computer.”

“He, uh....” The agent glanced sheepishly at Coulson, who nodded gently. “I assumed he told you. He gave the computer to us. He decrypted it himself.”

She cursed under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. After a moment, she waved her hand dismissively. “Alright. Fine. Whatever. There's nothing on there that would tell you anything about Camp that I won't be telling you.”

Coulson leaned back. “There must be some distrust between you two.”

“Or his only parent was tortured and killed within the last few months,” she sighed. “He's going through a rough patch and needs all the help he can get. He never would have told me that he trusted _you_ since I would have immediately gone back to grab his computer. At the time, at least.”

Dmitri knocked on the wall behind him. “This is all nice and well, but can we continue committing treason and finally get in the van with the SHIELD agents?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Ward took a step forward. “They aren't coming with us. No way.”

“Actually, we are.” Nightinghawk grinned sharply at him. “Even if Coulson didn't have the desire to meet demigods of all things, much less a congregation of them, the next place you all are going to look to find Ben is at the Camp. It's kind of a win-win scenario, if you ask me.”

“We can't just let you all into the van _with us,_ though,” he argued.

She shivered slightly, making a face. “Huh. Yeah. Good point.”

James shook his head. “You know, you could just split us all up. Unless your van isn't big enough.”

“It's plenty big enough,” Coulson said with a grin. “It can seat at least nine.”

“Which is just enough,” Mathasin conceded. “What about our families, though? I mean...” He shifted, uncertain of what to say.

Dmitri patted his back. “The little gremlins at school will handle everything. Don't worry.”

Nightinghawk nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “I don't like saying it, but this matter is more important than a single family, and much more complex. Even worse, it's been set in stone; trying to fight this will only make it worse.”

“Set in stone. Right.” Mathasin didn't look any more enthused by the prospect. “Does that mean that you-know-who is involved in this?”

“Fairly certain, yes.” She walked over to the door, peering out the peep hole. “The address to the camp, by the way, is 3141 Farm Road, Long Island, New York. Might take a while getting there, but you won't be disappointed, I swear.”

“Fine by me.” Coulson offered an enthused grin, rocking on his heels. “The van should be around any time now.”

“Are you sure about this, Coulson?” Fitz was fidgeting slightly, seeming rather nervous as he scanned over his opposition. “Letting her come with us might not be a good idea. In the plane-”

“In the plane, we were absolute strangers with no idea who was on either side. All she knew was that one of her own had been captured by SHIELD agents, and all we knew was that she was a threat.” He nodded slightly. “I believe our ride is outside now. Let's head out.”

After a moment of hesitation, the SHIELD agents filed out of the house. Nightinghawk shadowed them closely, with the others following in suit. Gloved hands slid carefully into her pockets as she scanned the vehicle finely. Pure black. Definitely enough to comfortably seat nine. The driver glanced through the window at her, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. No doubt had she been listening in on their conversation.

“Hey, Coulson.” She paused on the sidewalk as he opened the passenger door. “Thank you, for trusting me. It's been a while since I've seen that.”

He laughed once, a gentle look on his face; odd, considering the circumstances. “Don't worry about it.”

The others climbed into the cars and sat themselves down, Nightinghawk hesitating slightly before sitting next to Mathasin. She leaned her head back, firmly closing her eyes as her fingers scuttled over the seat belt across her chest. Images played across the backs of her eyelids: deeply stained, musty fabric; driving in the dead of night, subtle jazz playing in the background; bound wrists and dead corpses. An obvious shudder wracked her frame as she took a slow, deep breath. That night... The night which changed her life.... Warren's quiet whispering to her whenever she came to, right after those moments when she would relive their deaths, the gunshots, the plumes of crimson as she just _sat there and did nothing. A coward. That's what she was. A full-fledged coward who couldn't even try to stop-_

A hand touched hers. She took another shaky deep breath, unclenching her fingers from the belt. Someone was probably trying to talk to her, but she wasn't even ready to open her eyes yet. She wasn't ready to look out and see... Dear gods, if she saw _him –_ she didn't even know what she would do. But the hand, the conciliative hand calmed her raging thoughts and thumping heart. It helped her further herself from the memories she simply _couldn't_ pursue. She had known that visiting her friends again would set her on edge, but the events that followed obviously had frayed her nerves more than she originally thought.

She could feel the minutes tick by, feel the sun's travel through toward the horizon. _Her father's travel._ An empty space in her chest throbbed and she gritted her teeth, desperately wanting to tear it _out,_ to never feel it ever again. But _it_ would never go way. _It_ was a part of her. And _it_ didn't care how cold it made her feel. How alone and distressed. How tired. Gods, the emotional drain. Years of self-pity and self-loathing had made her numb to the feeling, yet it persisted and gave her the same mantra over and over. _I don't want to feel anything._ And then _Don't give up; you can salvage this._ And then _Why should I?_ And then silence. It was then that she felt her hand tighten around the other's, felt it twist ever so slowly and allow the other's fingers to interlock with her own. There were people counting on her. She couldn't allow her weakness to show.

But she was so _tired._ She was cold, and insecure, and damaged, and pressured, and stressed. She needed to relax, but it was wishful thinking. The SHIELD agents needed questions answered, the others barely had any idea what was going on. _She_ was the keystone right now. If she shook, if she fell, if she wasn't balanced... all of this would go down in flames.

The hand tightened around hers, forcibly making her hand stop shaking. “Ellie.”

Her eyes opened, her gaze shifting to Mathasin as a small grin graced her lips. “Just some memories.” Her head slipped onto his shoulder, eyes once again closing. The hand tightened again, just as the world faded out around her.

 


End file.
